Blue Light Crashing
by OyHumbug
Summary: This is the much awaited and procrastinated sequel to Fear of Falling. Where has life taken Ryan and Marissa three more years down the line? Does he know about his son? Are they single? Find out if they can reconnect or if they're destined to remain apart
1. Chapter 1

**Blue Light Crashing**

Chapter One

It was late in the afternoon on a beautiful day in May which was perhaps her favorite month out of the whole year. Everything just seemed so alive then; life was blossoming…in more ways than one. Everywhere she looked there were young, new, graceful flowers, the showers of April had quenched the slightly red tinted clay soil of Georgia and the late spring sunshine was enticing the shy buds into bloom. The fresh air that blew around her, swirling her dark blonde locks into tangled waves, held the promise of summer, tempting all creatures young and old to come out and play. Birds were singing happily from the trees, children were playing, and adults were laughing and talking amicably. May was the perfect month for a picnic, the perfect month for a family gathering, and, as she looked across her backyard, her eyes falling across her two children playing together in the sprinkler she had set up earlier for them, her eldest, Bailey who was already nine, watching out for her baby, her little girl, Rowan who, in a blink of an eye, had already turned two the month before, she realized that her life was practically ideal and that she, Marissa Cooper Channing, wife, mother, and business owner, was almost perfectly happy. It was time…time to share her good news.

Turning to her mother and father-in-law sitting with her around the intimate table set up on her patio, she offered them a shy, almost tentative smile before clearing her throat to get their attention. Andrew was sitting across from her, eyeing her very closely as if he knew what she was about to say was important. He had been slightly jumpy all day, excusing himself randomly all throughout their meal and disappearing into the house. Marissa had paid no attention to it before, but, as she sat their preparing to tell him something so important, something that meant the world to her, she suddenly realized that he might not be as excited about the news as she was. He had been distant, so much so that she was surprised she was able to make the announcement she was about to share with her family, but he was a busy man, running his family's successful, reputed horse farm where they raised race-worthy thoroughbreds. It was actually because of his work that they had met in the first place: Caitlyn was his vet, so she had known from their very first date, a blind one thanks to her always intruding sister, that his business was his priority, and she had accepted that.

Bailey, at that point, was the love of her life for he was the only part of his Father that she had left. She had experienced the once in a lifetime, monumental, earth shattering love that they only describe in fairytales and romance novels, and, while she would cherish it secretly for the rest of her life, Marissa knew no one would be able to make her love them in that way again; that part of her heart was reserved for the father of her son. So, she had dated Andrew with an open mind, willing to love him but unwilling to ever fall in love with him. Six months after their first date when he had proposed, she had accepted easily. By marrying him, she gained not only stability and comfort from a constant companion but a family as well for his parents treated her like their own daughter. It had been so long since she had that sense of security that, once she had it again, Marissa realized she would do anything she could to keep it, even marrying someone she wasn't really in love with.

"What is it, dear," Elizabeth Channing asked her. Observing the concerned look on her mother-in-law's face, Marissa became aware of the fact that she had been sitting there quietly for several minutes simply staring off into space as she thought silently to herself.

"I'm sorry," she apologized sincerely. "I just got lost in my own head there for a moment."

"Seems to be a reoccurring theme in our marriage," Andrew whispered under his breath. Marissa heard but didn't care, but, as she noticed the strict glare her father-in-law, Nikolas, sent in her husband's direction, she realized perhaps she should be paying attention to the numerous digs he aimed in towards her, their animosity evident to anyone who could hear them, that perhaps there was a deeper meaning behind the insults besides the normal petty differences a couple often has.

Shaking off her disturbing thoughts, Marissa simply smiled at all three adults sitting around her in an attempt to calm everyone down again. After all, it was Memorial Day, and she had the best news in the world to share. "I didn't want to say anything yet," she revealed, her hands unconsciously dropping to rub against her flat stomach hidden away behind a light, airy sundress, "but I can't wait any longer."

"Is it good news," Elizabeth asked practically hanging on the younger woman's every word. While the two men were totally oblivious, she was a woman herself, an observant woman who recognized the sparkle in her daughter-in-law's eyes, the glow on her tan, flawless skin, the sheer exhilaration of her smile. She had the same look almost three years before when she had told them she was expecting Rowan.

"I know some people might think it's too soon, that they'd say I should enjoy my little girl while I can, but I didn't want such a large age gap between my children again," Marissa explained. At the connotation of her words, smiles erupted onto both Nikolas and Elizabeth's faces, but Andrew's eyes just seemed to widen in panic, a surprised, almost outraged look coming across his countenance. "So next year, in all likelihood late January, Bailey and Rowan will be meeting their new baby brother or sister." It took less than three seconds for the two women to both stand up and embrace each other in a tight, exuberant hug. Nikolas soon joined them, first congratulating his daughter-in-law with a kiss on the cheek and then pulling his wife into his side to share in her excitement. They were young, healthy, loving grandparents to both Bailey and Rowan, and the news that Marissa was expecting another child was the best thing she could have told them. In their eyes, their son had the perfect wife, the perfect children, and the perfect life.

"I'm going to go and tell the kids," Marissa spoke up, breaking away from the group and heading towards the sprinkler. Stopping briefly to kick off her shoes so they wouldn't get wet and to tie her hair back, she overheard Andrew talking to his father.

"So, son," Nikolas beamed, "three kids, huh? You're a very lucky man."

"Yeah, I don't think luck had anything to do with it. If you'll excuse me," he rudely pushed passed his Dad and moved towards the house, "I have some work to do."

Marissa brushed off his disinterest in the baby. It didn't surprise her for he had not been overly excited when she had announced right after their honeymoon that she was already expecting Rowan, and he had never been close with Bailey. As long as he treated her well and let her raise her children as she saw fit, she didn't care if he would occasionally miss her son's baseball games or showed a disinterest in their daughter's new words. She could love the children enough for the both of them.

"How cold is the water," she questioned her children with an infectious grin on her face as she approached them. She was rather timid for she did not want to get wet if the water was too chilly.

"It feels great, Mom," Bailey called out. "Come on!"

"Mama," Rowan greeted her happily, running across the yard through the spraying water to launch herself into Marissa's waiting arms. Standing back up with her daughter carefully positioned on her hip, not caring that she was getting her dress wet, Marissa kissed the little girl before returning her hello.

"Hey baby! Are you having fun?" Rowan nodded her head enthusiastically. "Well, what do you say to Mommy playing with you, too?"

The little girl simply smiled widely, but Bailey spoke up. "Really, Mom, but you don't have your bathing suit on?"

"I'll just play in my dress," she dismissed his concerns. "But first I want to talk to you and your sister. Can you come here for a minute?" The young boy quickly ran to his Mother's side, and the three of them, despite the muddy consistency of the late spring grass, sat down together, Rowan in her Mom's lap and Bailey by her side. "So, there's something I have to tell you, and I hope you'll be excited about it." With both kids' full attention, she continued. "Mommy's going to have another baby next year, in January." She was surprised when both of her children just sat there, neither of them saying anything. While her daughter looked up at her with a confused expression on her face, Marissa could tell that Bailey was silently thinking about something that was bothering him, that he was trying to work through something in his own mind before talking to her. This was not the response she was hoping for. Needing to know what they felt, she pressed. "So, what do you think?"

"Play," Rowan demanded, squirming out of her lap. Marissa let her go, knowing the little girl was perhaps still too young to understand the importance of her news, but Bailey did. Turning towards her son, she pulled him into a hug, leaning her head gently on top of his after kissing his golden brow.

"You're not saying anything," she pointed out to him softly. "Is something wrong, honey?"

"No, I'm just thinking."

When he was quiet like this, contemplative and thoughtful, he always reminded Marissa so much of his father. "Do you want to talk to me about it," she offered her son. "I'll listen, no matter what you're worried about. You know you can tell me anything right, even bad things?"

"I know," he smiled up at her, "but I'm not sure what I think yet. Can I tell you when I do know though?"

"Of course. Now," she added, standing up and pulling him with her, "we better go and play with your sister before she gets herself into trouble."

With that, the quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed, young man led the way, running in front of his Mom into the swirling water, laughing at the simplistic fun of enjoying a sprinkler while Marissa lagged behind, squealing in discomfort when her body first came in contact with the frigid water. "You said it wasn't cold," she yelled good-naturedly at her son, chasing him in and out of the cool liquid raining down upon them. And so the little family played on, the mature, adult mother with the heart of an innocent girl and her two children, while the father who completed their happy family remained in their house, on the phone, and the furthest thing from their minds. Like Marissa had told herself earlier, they were almost perfect.

"Tell me everything," Caitlyn demanded as soon as Marissa was safely in her seat, buckled, and they were headed back home. They were in Atlanta for Marissa's first doctor's appointment, and Caitlyn had come along to take Rowan to play in the park. Jackson was home with her two boys, JJ or Jackson Jr., a name that had infuriated Marissa when she had learned they had taken the easy road and named her first nephew after his father, and Carter, but Rowan had insisted that she come with her Mommy, for she didn't want to be with the boys, and Bailey was in school. They were going to pick him up on their way home before going back to Caitlyn's for a couple hours to just spend time together. "I want to know your due date, how you and the baby are doing, even your weight."

Ignoring her sister, Marissa turned around to talk to her daughter. "Hey, sweetie, did you have fun with Aunt Caity?"

"Ah, now isn't that shame," Caitlyn taunted. "You can't get out of talking to me by focusing on your daughter. I played with her so much, she was asleep before we were even out of the parking lot."

"That's not fair," Marissa pouted, making them both laugh. "Fine, we can talk about my appointment, but I don't care what you do or say, you'll never learn my weight. That's between me, my doctor, and the nurse who carries my chart from the filing cabinet to the office."

"Okay, okay, you don't have to tell me how much your chubby ass weighs…"

"Do you know that I can't wait right now until you're pregnant again," Marissa interrupted her sister, "because you're really going to be in for it. Remember what they say about paybacks…"

"They're petty and juvenile," Caitlyn told her with all the seriousness she could muster. When her sister glared at her, she rolled her eyes and conceded. "Fine, I'll lay off the fat jokes until you're actually fat. Now, when are you due?"

"January 28th."

"And the rest of the stats," the younger woman pressed.

"The baby and I are both perfectly health. The pregnancy, according to the doctor, is going wonderfully so far. I got to listen to the heartbeat, and, just like with both Bailey and Rowan, it literally took my breath away. She gave me a prescription for medication to curb the morning sickness, and my next appointment is June 30th."

"Will Andrew be able to make it to that one," Caitlyn pondered, only looking at her sister through the corner of her eyes.

"We'll see," Marissa responded with little concern. "I actually forgot to tell him about this one until last night, and he had a meeting this afternoon with a new breeder. It's no big deal if he comes with me or not."

In a quiet voice, the younger woman pointed out, "Jackson never missed a single one of my appointments with either pregnancy."

"Your relationship with your husband is different than mine."

"Yeah, we actually have one!"

Snapping, Marissa replied, "You were the one who set me up with Andrew. If you didn't like or approve of him, why did you ever introduce us?"

"I set you up on one date; I never told you to marry the very first man you dated after…." Her voice trailed off. They had agreed years before not to say his name. Marissa claimed it was because she wasn't ready for Bailey to know his father yet, that she would tell him his name when he was an adult and give him the option of finding him then. Despite everything, Caitlyn's insistence that he deserved to know they shared a child and her own feelings of regret that she had not contacted him nine Decembers before when Bailey was born, the months stretched by, the years passed, and still Marissa did nothing to inform her former lover that she had carried his son for nine months and had given birth to his only child….well the only child she was aware of. Other than the occasional articles Bailey found in sports magazines written by him, they had no idea what had happened to the man she had fallen for so easily in the span of ten minutes while they had believed they were going to die. "Sorry," Caitlyn apologized, snapping them both out of their memories. Changing the subject, she asked, "Have you thought about names at all?"

"No, not yet," Marissa answered, turning away from her sister and looking out of the passing scenery through the closed, tinted window of the expensive, luxury sedan. "It's too soon."

Cursing to herself, Caitlyn knew her sister had shut down completely, and she hated when they couldn't talk about something. They were as close as they ever were, perhaps even closer now that they were both mothers, but there were two topics Marissa always refused to discuss with her sister: her marriage and its lack of love and the man who still after so many years with no contact held her heart in his two strong, tanned, and tender hands. She could hide in her children, tell herself that the affection she received from them was all she needed, but Caitlyn knew Marissa would never be at peace, would never be perfectly happy until she reconciled herself with the past…no matter how drastically doing so would tear her world apart.

"Mom," Bailey asked quietly, keeping his eyes locked on the dish he was drying while he helped Marissa clean up after their dinner.

"What, honey?"

"So….what is Rowan," he timidly queried, finally looking up at her with confused eyes, but she had no idea what he was asking. "I mean….since we don't have the same Dad's, is she really my sister?"

"Of course she is," Marissa answered him, turning off the water. Taking his hand, she led him over to sit down at the kitchen table. "Where is this coming from, Bailey?"

"Well, I was telling some of my friends at school that you were having another baby," she smiled at his words, knowing that if he had shared the news of her pregnancy with his friends then he was at least not upset about the idea, "and they said that the new baby wouldn't be my full sibling. I argued with them and said that Rowy is my sister, but they said she wasn't my full sibling. They're wrong," he pleaded with his deep, soulful blue eyes, "right, Mom?"

"That depends upon how you look at it," she answered him slowly. "Yes, technically, because you have different Dad's, you're what people call half siblings, but what's important is how you feel here," she held her warm hand over his heart, cupping his face with her other hand. "Do you love her?" The little boy nodded his head to show he did. "And are you going to love this new baby, too?" Again, he responded the same way. "Then it doesn't matter what biology or the law says. To me, Rowy is your sister, and, in your heart if she and the new baby feel like your full siblings, then that's what they are. Other people can't tell us how to feel about those we love."

Bailey was quiet for a moment while he thought some more. "Do you think my Dad has any other kids with someone else, like you have kids with Andrew?"

"He might," Marissa admitted, swallowing thickly at the idea and closing her eyes for a moment to will away the tears that instantly formed. The idea of him having a baby with another woman…even if it was his wife upset her, and she often wondered how he would react to the news that she had carried and given birth to another man's child. "Someday, when you're older, I'll help you find him, your Father, if that's what you want," she promised her son, "and then, together, we'll find out if he ever had any other kids."

"Mama," Rowan walked into the kitchen, dragging her favorite blanket behind her. She had been in the playroom while Marissa and Bailey cleaned up the kitchen. With tired eyes, she looked at her Mom and brother sitting together, holding up her arms to let Marissa know she wanted picked up.

"Are you sleepy," she asked her youngest child, smiling serenely when she felt her lay her head against her chest and nod drowsily, her soft, chocolate brown curls she inherited from her grandmother tickling Marissa's neck. "Do you want Mommy to tuck you in?" Again, the little girl nodded, but, as they made their way towards the stairs which would take them up to her daughter's room, Rowan lifted her head off of Marissa's chest and called out, "Baiwee, too," for she always wanted both her Mom and her big brother to tuck her in.

"Come on, sweetie," Marissa encouraged her son. "Your sister," she emphasized her words, "wants you to come with us."

Together, the little family of three, soon to be four, made their way up the stairs, and, as Bailey's hand found its way into his Mom's, a sense of calm washed over her. The nagging suspicions she had been harboring about her husband, wondering why he was, yet again, not home in time for dinner and why he had not bothered to call her to let her know she shouldn't be expecting him, disappeared. She forgot about the strange phone call she had early that evening where someone, a woman, had asked for Drew and proceeded to hang up when Marissa had told her he wasn't home, and she pushed out the worry she felt that there was a person more familiar with her husband than she was, for Andrew didn't even allow her or his parents to call him by the nickname. With her children with her, Marissa could ignore the problems in her marriage and focus upon the things she loved in her life.

"So," she broke the silence that had been stretching between them, "what story do you want Mommy to tell you tonight?"

"Punkin boy," Rowan answered quickly, a giggle escaping her smiling, pink lips. Marissa merely looked down softly at her daughter, kissing her forehead before the little girl went back to resting against her. It was an exaggerated tale she had invented when Bailey was a baby to tell him about his Dad, one that he had passed on his love for to his younger sister, but neither child knew its importance. As they made their way into the little girl's bedroom, a small lamp on her bedside table the only illumination lighting up the soft pink walls and princess themed room, the three of them crawled into Rowan's twin bed, Bailey situating himself at his sister's feet, while Marissa wrapped her daughter in her arms under the covers as she started the story, her tone tender and almost nostalgic, her eyes soft and dewy with cherished memories.

"Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom there lived a sad little boy who, although he didn't know it, had been kidnapped by two greedy, selfish thieves and taken away from the castle where he would have been a prince. Years passed, and the man and woman the little boy believed to be his parents plotted away, trying to determine when the best time would be to return the prince to his parents in hopes of the king and queen paying them more money than they could ever spend, but, every time they went to confess their crimes to get their reward, they would change their mind, and, eventually, the little boy turned into a young man. Even at a young age, he knew he was different than his family. His parents seemed to hate him, barely giving him enough food to survive, while his older brother resented his presence and would always try to get him in trouble. Anything he was ever lucky enough to make or earn by himself, they would steal from him. Life was sad for the quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed young man, but he did as he was told, never questioning the word of his elders.

"The poor little boy was having a very bad day when his luck suddenly started to change. It was the day after Halloween, and, after he had rushed home from school to have a piece of candy, just one for he wanted to savor the few measly pieces he had received for as long as he could, he found that someone had discovered his hiding spot and had stolen all his prized possessions, his candy, the book his teacher had given the year before for Christmas, and the forgotten change he had picked up off the street. With an unshed tear in his eye, he left his room and went into the kitchen where he found his family eating his candy, ripping his book, and putting his money in their own pockets. No matter what though, he wouldn't let them see him cry. As he went outside to be by himself, to go for a walk and try to lose himself in the happy people around him, his Mom yelled that he was supposed to throw his stupid pumpkin away that the neighbor had given him for trick-or-treat. He had worked so hard on it the day before, carving it so carefully in order to show others that he wasn't as useless and stupid as his parents told him he was, but no one had cared. With a heavy sigh and a slow step, he left the house and did as he was told, tossing his prized pumpkin into the garbage heap behind their house, having no idea how much his actions would change his life for the better.

"Fall turned to winter, winter to spring, and the quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed young man continued to do as he was told, cleaning the house, mowing the lawn, raking leaves, and picking up the sticks that would fall from their few trees. The food his family wasted he would toss back on the very same garbage pile his rotten pumpkin was in, along with the grass clippings, leaves, and sticks he would pick up from the yard. One day he wasn't paying attention, merely walking by himself behind his house, when he tripped, sprawling out and landing on his face. Rolling over, the scrapes the hard ground had made on his bare knees and elbows, for it was summer and too warm to wear a lot of clothes, stung his sensitive skin slightly, but he realized what had made him fall: a large, long, healthy vine growing out from the garbage pile. Curious, he went and found a rake, pushing the discarded waste aside to find a growing pumpkin plant, and, as he realized his prized pumpkin from the fall before had rotted away until its seeds could grow again, a large, happy smile took over his slightly dirty face. This was something that would just be his for his family wouldn't care about a living, growing, wholesome thing, especially since they hated going outside, probably, he realized, because they were allergic to sunshine and cheer.

"No one knew about the quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed, young man's treasured plant; it was his secret. He took care of it carefully, watering it, telling it stories, and trimming the tree branches that shaded it so that it could get enough sunshine. When he heard fertilizer would make it grow even more, he went to his elderly neighbor, a kindly, compassionate gentleman who had a garden himself, and offered to help him weed his vegetable crop if he would pay him with fertilizer. The older man agreed, and, while they worked, he would share with the younger boy all his knowledge about growing plants. When September came again, the young man went back to school, but, as soon as the bell released him from his classes, he ran home to check on his beloved pumpkin plant. Eventually, it was time to harvest, and no one had ever seen such beautiful pumpkins as those the boy had grown. The whole town noticed his talent, and the local paper came out and took a picture of him standing beside his crop of deep orange, round, perfect pumpkins.

"Word of the amazing young gardener reached the castle where the sad parents of a baby boy long since taken from them still wondered what had happened with their beautiful, quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed prince. When they saw the boy's picture in the paper, they wondered if perhaps they had found their son after so many years. Calling for their royal coach, a long, stretch limousine, they had their chauffeur drive them to the small, poor town where the child lived, eager to see him and to find out if he was their long-lost prince. Pulling up to the house the little boy lived in, a tear fell from the queen's eye as she realized an innocent child had grown up there. Even if he wasn't her son, it still saddened her to see that he had suffered through a harsh, cruel life. Before they could even knock on the door, the young man in question walked around the house, carrying one of his pumpkins carefully in his arms. With a wave, he approached the two adults, smiling at them before asking if they were there to purchase one of his prized plants. They told him they were there to meet him, and, after introducing themselves as the king and queen of all the land, they asked if it would be possible for them to look at his right foot.

"The quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed, young man thought their request to be weird, but he was just a poor boy, no one important enough to deny a king and queen. So, he took off his shoes and socks, each with their fair share of holes in them, and blushed when the royal couple gazed upon his dirty foot. It wasn't his fault his feet weren't clean; his parents only allowed him to take a bath once a week. Embarrassed, he refused to look up at them, but, when an abrupt gasp was sounded by the queen, the shy boy gazed up at her to notice tears falling from her crystal blue eyes, eyes so much like his own. He asked her what was wrong, if he had upset her, but she said they were happy tears, that she had finally found something she had been looking for all around the world for many years: him. In shock, the king and queen sat down on the steps with the little boy and explained the story of their son, how the young prince had been kidnapped when he was a baby, and how he had a unique, red birthmark, oddly enough, in the shape of a pumpkin on his right foot. As soon as they saw the mark on his sole, they knew he was their son.

"Soon, everything changed for the special young man. He found a family who loved him, who wanted him, who cherished him and took good care of him. The mean people he had believed to be his parents were sent to jail, and their nasty, rude son had to go live with his grandparents who, though they were not mean to him, made him behave, while he went to live in the castle, was allowed to have as many books as he wanted, and went to a good school. However, he never forget the special pumpkins that led him to his happiness, and, every year, after his large pumpkin patch was harvested, he would give away a pumpkin to every child in his parents' kingdom, hoping that they would provide them with as much pleasure as he himself had.

"I met the quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed, young prince once," Marissa revealed as she came to the conclusion of her story. "We were on a plane, and the pilot was scared it was going to crash, but, for some reason, the prince was not scared. He shared his secret with me, dropping into my shaking hands a few of his precious, special pumpkin seeds. He told me they were magic, that as long as I had them with me, nothing bad would ever happen, and he was right. Eventually, our plane landed safely, I thanked the kind, young prince for his help, and, from that day on, I kept those pumpkin seeds. Some of them we planted so that we could make more seeds to pass on to others, but, no matter where I go, there's always one on me." Unclasping the locket around her neck, Marissa revealed a lone seed to her son who was still awake. He had seen it hundreds of times before, but it always made him smile, especially when he opened his own, similar locket and showed her the seed he carried with him. "And that is the tale of 'The Pumpkin Boy'," she concluded the beloved bedtime story, the smile fading from her face as the vision of that quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed young man gradually disappeared from her mind. Leaning down, she placed a tender kiss on her daughter's sleeping head before picking her up off of her lap and tucking her into bed. Standing up, she held out her hand for her son, smirking when she realized he was already yawning. "Come on," Marissa told him, ruffling his own blonde hair, "I'll tuck you in, too."

Without a word, the two of them moved towards his bedroom which was decorated in typical boy fashion with a sports theme. Marissa had never told him about his Dad's affinity for the Cubs, but, somehow, on his own, Bailey had picked the blighted Chicago Cubbies as his favorite team, and their memorabilia covered the nine year old's room. Just as they walked through the doorway, the phone started ringing. "Put your pajamas on and brush your teeth while I answer the phone," she told him quickly before running out the door and down the hall to her own bedroom she, in theory, shared with Andrew. When he was actually home, he often slept in his office, falling asleep at his computer, and, if he did make it to their bed, one of them would find an excuse as to why they couldn't sleep and would get up to leave the other one alone. Breathlessly, she picked the phone up, sitting carelessly down on the precisely made king sized bed. "Hello."

"I'm not going to make it home tonight," Andrew's crisp voice assaulted her ears. There was no greeting, no sense of affection or even friendship. "So, I'm just going to get a hotel room."

"You were meeting with a new breeder," Marissa stated, her tone betraying her confusion. "I don't understand how you could possibly have so much to say to each other that you're meeting lasted this late."

"Well we had drinks…then dinner…and then some more drinks, and, before we knew it, we were both slightly tipsy and in no shape to drive home."

She sighed. They hadn't been married for almost three years for her not to know what his statement meant. He had taken his business associate to a strip club, gotten wasted, and now didn't want to come home to his wife and kids. "Fine," Marissa hardened her tone to make it seem as if he couldn't hurt her. "I guess I'll see you whenever you get here."

"Mom," Bailey called out loudly from his room. "Are you coming?"

Sighing thankfully, she dismissed her husband. "Listen, I have to go. My son needs me." And with that, she clicked off the phone, pushed herself up off of the bed she was supposed to share with her husband, and went back to the only thing she had left to remind her of what it felt like to be loved. "So do you want to read to me the next chapter of your book, or are you too tired tonight and want me to read it to you?"

"Could we maybe just talk," Bailey asked shyly.

"Of course," Marissa answered him, kissing the top of his head before climbing into his bed beside him and taking him into her arms. "You never have to ask me to talk to you, sweetie. I'll always be here to listen or to answer any question you might have."

Uncertain, he pushed, "anything?"

"Bailey, what is it? You never should be nervous to ask me something."

"Yeah, but when Aunt Caity brings him up, you get upset," the little boy protested "I don't want to make you sad, Mommy."

"Oh, honey," she pulled him into a tight hug, "you could never make me sad. I get mad at your Aunt, because she sticks her nose in places it doesn't belong, but whenever you have a question about your Dad, I want you to always come to me. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Bolstered, he posed, "did you love him, my Dad?"

"Yes, I did."

"Like you love Andrew?"

"Well, that's different," Marissa revealed, marveling at how insightful her son's questions were. "I love Andrew for different reason than your Dad. Andrew gave me a family, new parents after I lost mine all those years ago. He gave me your sister and this baby I'm carrying right now, and he gave us, you and me, a real home, not some apartment above my studio."

"I liked living there," Bailey interrupted her explanation. "It was fun, and we were always together then." She smiled down at him, their eyes locking together as memories of their years spent with just the two of them flashed through both of their minds. After a moment, he spoke up again. "And why did you love my Dad?"

"For many reasons," she told him honestly. "Your Dad….he was the first man I ever loved. When we met it was just….meant to be. We could talk about anything, we trusted each other, and he could always make me laugh, but what I loved most about him was how I felt about myself when he was looking at me. He made me realize I could do anything, be anyone, and he always made me feel as if I was the most beautiful woman in the world."

Sadly, the little boy pointed out, "you don't laugh a lot now, Mom."

Unable to deny it, Marissa merely said, "yeah, not so much, sweetie."

"Mom," Bailey started to ask another question.

"What is it, honey?"

"Do you still love my Dad?"

Gazing down into her son's face, the words she was about to say caught in her throat as the blue light crashing from his eyes connected with her own, and she knew she couldn't lie to him no matter what the consequences might be. "Yes," she finally satisfied his curiosity by speaking up. "Yes, I still love your Dad, and I always will."

That was enough for the quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed young man, and, with a content smile on his face, he fell asleep in his Mother's arms. A good night's rest didn't come as easily to Marissa though. For hours after her confession, she sat awake in her little boy's bed, holding him to her closely while running her long, slender fingers across his cool brow, wondering the whole time what Bailey's father was doing while she embraced their son in her arms.

In a very familiar apartment in a special, meaningful city, a lonely man sat in his bedroom, a room he had once shared with a woman he had never been able to forget, searching online for a new job, a new life, a new him. He was tired of being cut off from the rest of the world, he was exhausted with the traveling his job required, and he was weary of the life of a bachelor. The friendless man had been on quite a journey during the last nine years of his life, and he was ready for more. He wanted a home, a wife, and a family, and, resigned to the fact that he would never win back the woman he had given his heart to years before, he was determined to make the most of the existence he had left. So, with his hope intact, he put his laptop aside, turned off his lamp, and burrowed down under the crisp sheets of his companionless bed. With the moon shining through his open window, the soft sounds of the metropolitan nightlife serving as a song to lull him to sleep, Ryan Atwood, with a smile on his face, closed his eyes to picture the quiet, blonde haired, blue eyed beauty he was reconciled to love secretly for the rest of his life, for he was about to leave the painful reality of consciousness to spend a long, dream filled night with his Marissa Cooper.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Holy shit, I know, a freaking update, can you believe it? LOL I know, I know, I've been a lazy bitch lately; sue me. No, in all seriousness, I'm sorry for the lack of posts. I really don't know what happened. I did become obsessed with a new writer, read all their works, thousands of pages, in about a week and a half, but, besides that, I was just in a strange, anti-writing mood. Word of warning to many of you, I'm Liason happy and in the throes of creating a full length fic for them. However, it'll be AU, so perhaps some of you will be interested...maybe. (Well, a girl can hope.) Before that's up though, there will be other R/M pieces/chapters posted. Thanks for bearing with me and being patient. As for this chapter, eh, it's alright. I seem to be out of my groove. Putting that aside, enjoy it anyway. Thanks!_

Charlynn

Chapter Two

Marissa Cooper Channing was just…_peachy_. Thirty weeks pregnant, the world should have been revolving around her, catering to her every whim in order to keep her sane, comfortable, and relaxed, but, instead, the world seemed to be spinning out of her control, and she was on edge, scared, and too stubborn to ask for help. Nothing seemed to be working out the way she had planned, and everything was the opposite of what she wanted.

Her home life left much to be desired. Putting aside her relationship with her ever missing and cold husband, her children were pushing her already strained nerves further than they had ever been tested before. While Bailey continued to constantly question her about his father, his curiosity and interest in the touchy subject increasing daily, Rowan adamantly refused to accept her baby brother or sister into their world, insisting that Marissa not let it out. She told her she liked it inside of her tummy, because it made a good pillow and its kicks would tickle her, but she refused to entertain the idea that the baby would be even more fun once it was born. As her due date neared, her daughter's hatred towards her unborn sibling grew before her mother's very nervous eyes. No matter what anyone said, Rowan just would not listen to their reason.

However, Marissa could have dealt with her children's tears and tantrums, inquiries and grand inquisitions if she would have had support from her spouse, his undivided attention for just one evening a week, or even a glimmer of hope that he still wanted to be with her, but the only thing he sent in her direction was disdain and contempt. They barely spoke, and, when he was at home, it was only to shower and change his clothes before leaving again. Instead of sharing a family meal every night like they had for the first two years of their marriage, she had quit setting his place at the dining room table, knowing better than to expect him to miraculously show up. He didn't ask about the baby, paid even less attention to his daughter than he had despite never showing much interest in her to begin with, and completely disregarded Bailey whenever the little boy attempted to have a relationship with him. And that was just the cusp of the damning evidence she had against her husband and his lack of concern in their marriage.

Three weeks before she had found a mysterious letter in the mail. It had been addressed to Andrew but had no return mailing address. Too curious and stressed out to care about propriety or the idea of trust in a marriage, she had steamed open the letter, had her suspicions confirmed, and then resealed it so that he wouldn't suspect anything. Getting the proof that her husband was cheating on her proved to be the easy part; figuring out what to do about it was proving slightly more complicated and difficult.

Normally, dancing and teaching were the two things that helped to relax her, helped to put her mind at ease so she could think. The instructions she had to give to her class were routine and automatic; she didn't have to think about what she was going to do or say next. But, while she instructed the women, mostly working moms who came to her three times a week on their lunch break to fit in their cardio workout, in her jazzercise class, trying to make a decision about what she should do with her cheating husband was the last thing she could think about.

Really, it was quite simple; she had two options. Option number one: she could play the moralistic card and get a divorce. Although his parents would hate the idea, she knew he would give her sole custody of their children, because he only consented to have them in the first place so that he could provide his father with a male heir…something Rowan had failed to do, and, because of the fact that she was a girl, she would forever be a disappointment to her father. True, if they separated, there would be no possible way she could afford the house payment to their brand new, very expensive, custom designed home and the hundreds of acres it resided on, but she owned her own business, had a suitable apartment above the studio, and she and the children would survive quite nicely on her salary without having to depend upon Andrew to support them.

On the other hand, option number two would mean that she would ignore his infidelity, remain married to a man she had never been in love with in the first place, and disregard his blatant disinterest in her and the children. That way, the kids would remain close to their grandparents and their lives would not be turned upside down by a separation. However, while she knew remaining married to Andrew would be the easiest option, it was also harder for her to swallow, because she realized the marriage had been a mistake in the first place. She had settled, given up on love, and married for convenience sake just as Ryan had done all those years before with Theresa, and the knowledge of her weak behavior left a bitter taste in her mouth. Plus, she had her pride, and remaining with a man who had absolutely no respect for her did not sit well with her self confidence and love for herself. Finally, there was the nagging question in the back of her mind that queried whether or not the children would be better off without Andrew than with him in their lives despite the numerous reports that all kids needed a father figure. Hadn't she been enough for Bailey the first seven years of his life? Wasn't there the possibility that she could meet someone else and fall in love again?

Despite the fact that the double edged sword called divorce she was contemplating should have been dominating her mind, it wasn't, and the only things Marissa could think about were the little things. Had she remembered to turn the coffee pot off that morning? It had been nearly four months since she had her oil changed in the car; she should make an appointment. Rowan was quickly outgrowing her shoes; she should go to the mall and pick her up some new ones. Caitlyn's anniversary was quickly approaching, and she needed to remind Jackson of the date so he wouldn't forget and end up in the dog house for a month like the year before. She was oddly craving celery and peanut butter, an idea that surprised her for she was not known for her healthy food habits, and knew they didn't have any of the green vegetable at home. It was really about time that she got around to clearing out the pumpkin patch and preparing the next years seeds. Then there was that new movie that she really wanted to see. Although she couldn't remember the title of it or who starred in it or what it was about, she could remember that the guy on the poster was hot, really, really hot. There were the sharp pains that kept shooting through her back that felt oddly like contractions. Her breath didn't taste that great, and she thought she'd grab some mints before her next class. Carter was going to need his afternoon bottle soon, and JJ and Rowan were both going to want lunch before they took their naps. Speaking of lunch, she no longer wanted celery and peanut butter but peanut butter and carrots; why, she had no idea. Perhaps, she should start offering a stripper-cize class, something to boost the heartbeat of both the wives who used the class for their cardio workout and the husbands who would get to see the wives practice their moves at home. After all, if anyone had the training, Marissa Cooper Channing did. And then, suddenly, those slight, obnoxious pains in her back were shooting around to grip her contracted, swollen abdomen, sending her into a dizzying spell of misery and anguish, followed quickly by a steady, taunting drip that let her know she was indeed in labor but her water had not completely broken yet.

Unable to support herself any longer, she stopped mid-dance-step and collapsed onto the floor of her studio, the various members of the class immediately surrounding her. Marissa could feel them pick up her clammy hands, touch her sweaty forehead, and peer at each other in bewilderment as to what they were to do to help her, but the only thing she saw was the uncertainty flashing across her nephew's ruddy, four year old face and the scared tears that immediately filled her daughter's innocent eyes.

"Marissa, are you alright," one of the women from the jazzercise group asked her. Which one it was, she had no idea, and, not knowing the answer, she didn't reply. Instead, she turned towards her daughter and addressed her.

"Rowy," her voice was even and relaxed, hiding the fact that her mind was a whirlwind of nerves and anxiety. "Can you show one of the nice women where Mommy keeps her cell phone so she can call Daddy and Aunt Caitlyn?"

"No," the little girl whispered vehemently, her tone rough and wary with unreleased emotion.

At any other time, she would have noticed that her daughter's refusal to help her stemmed from her fear and not a contrary personality, but gripped in the throes of labor ten weeks before her due date, Marissa only heard her child denying her the one thing she needed. "Rowan Careen Channing when I tell you to do something, you do it. Now show the ladies where my phone is!" Her voice was harsh, cold, demanding, and it had the directly opposite reaction from the little girl than it desired. Instead of listening to her Mom, Rowan erupted into tears, her trembling bottom limp reducing Marissa to sobs as well. "I'm sorry baby," she immediately apologized, pushing herself up off the floor into a sitting position and holding her arms out for her youngest child. "Come here, honey."

Rowan fairly ran across the room, launching herself into her Mother's arms for she did not understand the conditions of labor, but Marissa didn't feel the pain of the small two year old body barreling into her own contracting one. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her sobbing little girl, planted loving kisses in her hair, and whispered reassuring words into her tiny shell of an ear. "Rowy, Mommy needs your help, okay? I need you to be a big, strong girl. Can you do that for me?" When she felt her daughter nod her head in agreement, she continued talking, directing her gaze upon her still silent, wide eyed nephew. "JJ, do you know where I keep my cell phone?" The little boy quickly said yes. "Could you get it for me then?" As he did what she asked of him, Marissa turned back to Rowan. "I know you don't want a little sister or brother, honey, but Mommy's going to have the baby today, and she needs to go to the hospital. We need to call for help, okay Rowy?"

"Mommy hurt," the little girl looked up with a fresh wave of sniffles and glistening eyes. She was scared.

"A little bit," Marissa answered, refusing to lie to her daughter, "but it already feels better now that I'm holding you, and, when we get to the hospital, the doctors and nurses will help me, and, before you know it, I'll be better than ever."

Just then, JJ appeared at her side and offered her, tentatively, her mobile. "Thanks, sweetheart," she offered the little boy a grateful smile, pulling him into her side and kissing his thick, dark locks that seemed to forever be falling into his bright, mischievous eyes. "Now, do you two want to help me some more?" They both eagerly nodded yes. "Okay, could you go and check on Carter for me and make sure he's okay, play with him and make him laugh?" The only answer she received was the echoing sound of their shoes as they ran away from her and towards the one year old little boy in his carrier.

Knowing the children would be content for several moments, she flipped the phone open and hit the second programmed number, waiting impatiently for her husband to pick up. Despite everything that was happening between them, he was always dependable in a crisis, and she felt he deserved to be there when his son or daughter was born. Though it was early for her to give birth, Marissa would not accept the idea that something would be wrong with her child, so she wouldn't even consider the idea that he had to be there to perhaps meet and say goodbye to their baby if it died. Unfortunately, whether she was being optimistic or not, his cell went straight to voice mail.

"Hey Andrew, it's me," her tone a feigned mixture of harmony and patience, "just wanted to see where you're at, when you'll be home, what you're doing. Me, I'm just in labor with your child ten weeks early, but, don't worry about it. I'll take care of this baby on my own the same way I take care of our daughter and my son on my own. Just do me a favor; if you get this, call and let your parents know what's going on. As for you, just stay away from me."

There were audible gasps around the studio, sounds of shock that hinted at her students' awareness of the latest scandal in their small town, but Marissa had never cared for idle gossip and she wasn't going to start then. Instead, she simply hung up the phone, hit the first programmed number on her cell, and waited for Caitlyn to pick up. Her sister always answered her calls….even at the most inopportune times. Sure enough, just as she expected, the younger woman's voice filled the line mere seconds after the first ring.

"What happened; what's wrong? Did JJ put something up his nose again? I swear, I told him he can't do that, at least not when he's with you, because you panic in those type of situations. Or is it Carter? He was fussy this morning, and I was afraid he might be teething. Is it more than that though? Is he sick, because I don't want him to get Rowan sick, too?"

Everything she said was emitted without taking a breath of air, but, as soon as she paused to breathe, Marissa took her chance and interrupted her anxious rambling, cutting to the chase and gaining her sister's attention the best way she knew how: by being blunt.

"I'm in labor." Eerie silence filled the line. Smirking, the older sibling continued. "I'm in labor, at my studio, and I can't get in touch with Andrew. I left him a voicemail, but I doubt I'll see him anytime soon….especially after what I said."

"If he had his phone shut off or didn't answer it despite knowing you're pregnant, the ass doesn't deserve to be there when his kid is born." Caitlyn's words were harsh, bitter, and expressed everything Marissa herself was thinking and feeling. "What do you need me to do?"

"Well, I don't want to go to the hospital alone. We're going to call an ambulance, but I was hoping you could be here before I left. Plus, the kids are scared, and they're going to need someone to watch them while I'm in the delivery room. I know Jackson was supposed to fly out tonight, but do you think there's anyway he could call off and hand over the flight to another pilot?"

"He can, and he will."

Sighing out of relief, Marissa expressed, "okay then, I think that's it."

"No, stay on the line," Caitlyn demanded. "I had my secretary call the hospital for you. The ambulance has already been sent, but I need to let them know your stats. Did your water break? How far apart are your contractions?"

"My water is dripping, but it hasn't broken yet. As for my contractions, I think they're too close together to stop the labor. I'd put them at about 5 minutes apart already. This just….hit me; it was so sudden."

"Stop worrying; you're going to be fine, and your baby is going to be healthy. We're going to get through this, because we've gotten through worse and you and me together, that's an unbeatable team." Reassuring her sister, she continued. "And just think about it. You're going to miss the worst part of the pregnancy, the part where you're so fat you can't see your feet. You'll miss the nights where you can't sleep because your back feels as if it's splitting in two. You're going to miss the really strange cravings and the weekly doctor visits. And don't forget the most important thing…."

Her voice trailed off as the younger mother continued to reassure her older sister, the woman who had essentially raised her since she was eleven, easing the tension building in both of them and soothing their fears until the time came when they would have to face the reality of the situation. No matter what, they would be there for each other, helping the other through both the good and the bad in their lives, so it was fitting that Caitlyn would be at her side when she gave birth. After all, she had been at Marissa's side for the births of her first two children; why should her third child, though premature, be any different?

"Marissa, Mrs. Ross," the doctor greeted the two exhausted women as he stepped into the hospital room minutes after Marissa had finished giving birth. As soon as the child had been born, it had been taken away from her and swept quickly off to the NICU while she had been tended to as well. At that point, she didn't even know if her baby was a boy or a girl….if it was even alive. "I'm sure you're anxious for news, so let me first assure you that your son is very much alive and, though he's going to have a struggle on his hands, we're going to keep him that way."

"I…I had a son?"

"Yes, you did," the health professional responded with a small smile on his face, "a little boy that ended up being fifteen inches long and just shy of three pounds. I'm not going to lie to you, he's a very unhealthy little boy right now, but he's a fighter, you're a strong woman, and we have an excellent neonatal center here."

"Tell us exactly what we're up against," Caitlyn demanded, taking her sister's hand in her own and offering it a grasp of comfort.

"Basically, it's just going to be a waiting game while we let his body fully develop. At this point, he can't breathe on his own; his lungs are not fully developed yet. So, we have him attached to machines that will breathe for him until his body can do it on its own. He's also unable to eat on his own or maintain his own body weight, so he'll remain in an incubator for several weeks, and we'll be feeding him through a tube. These are normal symptoms that a premature baby has."

"Is there anything else," Marissa asked, sensing he had more to say. "Even if it's bad news, I need to know everything."

"Well," the doctor started hesitantly before continuing after Caitlyn glared at him, "we fear he's also going to have jaundice. Normally, this is something that will simply run its course and will fade as the baby's liver learns to get rid of the bilirubin on its own. However, we're going to have to run some tests to make sure that it's not a sign of a more serious complication."

"Such as," the younger woman pushed.

"Well it can be a sign of infection, which is something we'll monitor him for closely anyway because of his premature status, a digestive problem, or even a blood type incompatibility with Marissa. But, on the other hand, it could just simply be a case of jaundice. Time will tell."

"How long do you think he'll be in the hospital," Marissa inquired. "I have two other children, and it's quite a drive in from our home. I need to make arrangements for my kids and myself so that we can be close by."

"Don't worry about that now," Caitlyn chastised her softly. "Jackson's got everything under control, and you know that Bailey will help him with Rowan. Right now we need to worry about you and the baby. Speaking of which, you really need to name him soon. I'm getting sick of referring to him as the baby or simply him."

"Take your time naming your son," the older gentleman corrected her statement. "I know you weren't prepared for this, and parents often have to take several hours or even days to finalize a name selection. Besides, it's more important that the baby is healthy than it is for him to be legally nominated. As to answer your question," he revealed, "each case is different. When he's able to breathe and eat on his own and maintain his own body weight, then he'll be sent home. It will, in all likelihood, be at least a few weeks. Now, you won't be able to stay in the hospital with him the whole time, but we'll keep you under observation for a couple of days. While we do, if it would be easier for you, we could bring in another bed for your children or Mrs. Ross or whoever might want to use it while they're here with you. I do have one question for you though."

"Sure," Marissa agreed, shrugging her shoulders, "what is it?"

"Do you plan on breast feeding?"

"I have with my first two children," she revealed. "Why, does it matter?"

"Well, actually," the health professional responded, "it's healthier for the baby because breast milk has antibodies that will help protect your son from serious infections. Plus, it helps with nutrient absorption, digestive functioning, and nervous system development. However, you'll be unable to feed him until he's capable of eating on his own, so you'll have to pump. Will that be a problem?"

"Not at all."

"Wonderful," the doctor stated enthusiastically as he stood up to move towards the door. "Well, in that case, I'll let you get some…."

"Wait," the she called out, stopping him mid-step. "Can I see him….can I see my son?"

"Right now," he replied sternly, "you can get some rest. This is not only going to be a difficult process for your son but for you and the rest of your family as well. He needs you healthy. Plus," he relented when she went to complain, "he's still being tested. As soon as you can see him, I'll send a nurse to get you, and then she'll be able to explain the rules of the NICU and give you an update." With a tip of his head, he continued through the door of her room and into the bustling hallway, calling out over his shoulder. "And, by the way, congratulations, Marissa; he's beautiful."

"Now, I know that Caitlyn is slightly too feminine for his first name," her sister argued diplomatically, "but I really think it would work nicely for a middle name. Something…Something Caitlyn Channing has a nice little ring to it, don't you think?"

It was the next morning, and Marissa was ready to injure her sister so that she would have to be emitted and sent to her own hospital room far, far away from the labor and delivery floor, even if her actions landed her cuffed to her hospital bed. Caitlyn had let her sleep throughout the night, but, now that they were both awake, the younger woman was determined to name her nephew…after herself. Jackson had taken all four of the children back to his house the night before, and he was going to stay with them until Marissa was released from the hospital, but his and the kids' absence, left her with too much time to spend with her overly enthusiastic sister.

"I already told you," Marissa said slowly, taking a deep breath to steady her mood, "I want to make his middle name James…after Dad. I know he wasn't the perfect father figure, but he was ours, and I want to remember him for the good times from when we were little and not how he ended up."

"Why do you think I had two something's listed in his name before," her sister countered. "A child can have two middle names."

"Yeah, if a mother wants him to hate her."

"Fine," the younger sibling pouted, "we can go with something more obscure. What about….a horse breed! I love horses, I'm a vet, and they can be masculine."

"You want me to name my child Mustang James Channing?"

"It's…rustic," Caitlyn argued. Marissa had no idea how she managed not to smirk let alone laugh at the ridiculous idea. "Besides, there are other breeds. Abyssinian, Akhal Teke, Albanian, Altai, that has a nice ring to it, American Cream Draft…"

"Okay, first of all," Marissa interrupted her, "the fact that you have every horse breed alphabetically memorized is freaking me out, and, secondly, I'm not naming my child after a hairy, smelly animal. End of story!"

"So then," the younger sister cheekily replied, "I guess naming him after Andrew is definitely not an option."

"It never was."

Noticing the older woman's tone, Caitlyn's head snapped up to look at her closely, her eyes narrowing. "That does not sound good. What happened; what's wrong?"

"I caught him cheating, my marriage might be over, and ten hours after giving birth to our premature son, I still haven't heard from him. Really," Marissa said sarcastically, "what else is there that could be wrong between me and my husband." When her sister simply sat there in muted sympathy, she changed the subject. "But, I don't want to think about that right now. What's important is that we focus on my son and making sure he gets better as quickly as possible. My children have always and will always be my priority. At this point, as long as Andrew does nothing to further exacerbate the problem, then he can have his cake and eat it, too. I really don't care any more."

She didn't, and perhaps that was the trouble with their marriage in the first place.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"So, Rowy, are you excited for Thanksgiving?" Hunched down beside the tub in her children's bathroom, Marissa was helping her daughter get ready that morning. "Everyone is going to be there, your Grandma and Grandpa…."

"Gamma and Papa," the little girl asked excitedly, her blue eyes, eyes she had inherited from her Mother, lighting up at the thought of seeing her grandparents.

"Of course they'll be here, and you're Aunt Caitlyn, Uncle Jackson, and your cousins are coming, too. We'll eat turkey, and stuffing, and mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce, and pumpkins pie, and, when you've finished eating your dinner, you can watch the parade Mommy's recording for you."

Curious the little girl pondered, "pawade," repeating the unknown word for her Mom to clarify.

"You'll like the parade, Rowy," Marissa told her, smiling widely. "They have these giant balloons, and floats…."

"Root beer floats," the toddler of two and a half called out. "Dey're yummy!"

"No, baby, not root beer floats. These floats have flowers, colorful pictures, and people dressed up in costumes. Plus, the parade will have bands, marching bands, and they'll play songs for you to listen to."

As her Mother's hand carefully worked her baby shampoo into her rich, chocolate locks, Rowan looked up and asked, "you watch wiff me, Mommy?"

"Of course I will, baby," she agreed readily, placing a loving kiss on her daughter's damp forehead, "and Bailey, and JJ, and Carter will watch it with us, too."

"Good." The two of them were quiet for a moment as Marissa washed the soap from her daughter's hair, the little girl clamping her eyes shut tightly to make sure the shampoo wouldn't get inside of them while her Mom made quick work of rinsing the curly tresses. As soon as they were finished, Rowan's lids opened again, her light orbs of cerulean clouded with worry. "What about baby?"

Just as Marissa had hoped, her daughter's attitude towards her younger brother had improved greatly as soon as he was born and she got to see him for herself. In fact, she was fascinated by the tiny little boy. While the petite wisp of a girl couldn't sit still long enough to eat her oatmeal in the morning or to finish a single picture in her coloring book, she could sit in her Mom's arms for hours and stare at her baby brother, asking question after question about him. Marissa was thankful for the change, especially since she knew it would not be as difficult of a transition for her daughter when she brought home her youngest child as she had feared it would be. The more difficult task was going to be teaching her how to say her brother's name.

"Baby can't come, sweetie; he has to stay in the hospital for a little bit longer, but we're going to go see him this morning."

Splashing the water and smiling proudly, Rowan announced, "I made him a pickter."

"You made your little brother a picture, Rowy," Marissa beamed at her daughter, tickling her little belly and making the small child giggle. "That's because you're the best big sister in the whole world!"

With wide eyes, the young girl asked, "I am?"

"Of course you…."

"Marissa, I need to speak with you for a moment," Andrew announced as he stepped into the bathroom. His words were harsh, clipped, and rushed as if he had little patience for the conversation he was prepared to have with her and absolutely no interest in waiting for her to finish with their daughter. He didn't even offer the small child a word of greeting or a look of acknowledgment. "Now."

"Oh, okay," she agreed, standing up and offering her little girl a calming smile to reassure her. "Just let me get Bailey to watch Rowan." With that, she followed him out of the room, watched him take the hallway to their own bedroom, and stopped at her son's open doorway to knock and gain his attention. "Bailey, honey, can you go and sit with Rowy in the bathroom while I talk to Andrew?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, Mommy." But, before he left her alone, he turned around and observed her closely. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Forcing herself to appear calm, Marissa ruffled her son's hair before speaking again. "I'm just worried about your little brother. Let's hope we get some good news today at the hospital when we go to see him."

"He'll get better. I know it," the wise nine year old announced, surprising his Mom when he stepped into her arms and gave her a tight, comforting hug. With that, he moved down the hallway and into the bathroom; the immediate sounds of Rowan's high pitched squeals and Bailey's deeper chuckles alerting her to the fact that they were both content for the moment. Knowing her two older children were alright, she proceeded to make her way into the bedroom she was ostensibly supposed to share with her husband, the room they hadn't slept in together since the night before she had announced she was pregnant. As she stepped into the sprawling, luxurious room, her wary eyes immediately landed on a pacing Andrew, and it was in that moment that she knew the game was over.

"We have to talk," he announced gruffly, not even having enough respect for her to meet her eyes as he spoke. So, instead of helping him by agreeing with his statement or even asking a question, she simply took a seat in the chair closest to the entrance, leaving the door open so she could hear the kids if they needed her, and waited for him to continue. "This….our sham of a marriage has gone on long enough." Still, she said nothing. "Listen, I'm just going to tell you this straight out. I've met another woman, I'm in love with her, and I want a divorce."

Closing her eyes to ward off the emotions she was feeling, exhaustion, indifference, humiliation, Marissa slowly organized her thoughts before speaking. "Why now?"

Confused, Andrew asked, "what?"

"Why now," she repeated her question. "I knew it was inevitable, and I can't even feign a trace of heartache or grief over the idea of you leaving me for another woman when all I really feel is relief, but was it really necessary to put this on me today? My son is in the hospital fighting for his life…."

"He's our son!"

"Of course he is," she agreed with him, her tone patronizing. "And you showing up a full eighteen hours after he was born was the perfect way to show him how much you love him. Also, remind me again how many times you've gone to see him in the hospital, how many times you've held him, talked to his doctors, cried yourself to sleep out of worry because he's not gaining weight the way he should be? Oh, that's right, silly me, you haven't done those things, because you've been too selfish to put aside your own needs to focus on those of your son."

He simply ignored her. "I want this to be as quick and painless as possible. We've wasted too much time being married to each other as it is, and it has to stop. I'll give you whatever you want, the house, a generous settlement, alimony…."

"I just want the kids."

"I wouldn't take your children from you, Marissa," Andrew reassured her. "I might be a lot of things, but I'm not a complete monster. I know the kids are your life, that you wouldn't be able to survive without them, and, if I'm going to really be honest with myself, then I'd have to admit that I know nothing about my own children and that they would be miserable with me. So, because of that, I won't fight you for custody. However, there are a few things…."

"We can talk about this later," Marissa interrupted him, standing up and moving towards the doorway. "I'm supposed to meet Caitlyn at the hospital in an hour, and I'm not even dressed yet."

Before she could escape though, his voice stopped her once again. "Wait," he called out. "You're still going to cook dinner this afternoon for my parents, aren't you, because I really don't want them to know what's going on yet. I need a few more weeks before we tell them."

"You really are a piece of work, do you know that?" She laughed dryly without a trace of humor in her outburst. "Fine," she agreed, "I'll cook dinner and pretend that nothing's wrong, but I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for your parents who are going to be devastated by the news that we're getting a divorce, that you've been cheating on me. They deserve a better son than you." Swallowing thickly, she continued. "And I'm doing this for my children, because their lives are about to be destroyed, and, if I can give them one last day of relative peace and normalcy, than that's what I'll do. Just….stay away from me, Andrew, avoid me this afternoon. You've been doing it for the past seven months, so I know it won't be a challenging task for you."

With her head held high and her step even and deliberate, Marissa left her husband staring at her retreating form, a dumbstruck expression on his face, as she made her way back to her children. Stepping into the brightly lit bathroom, she was surprised herself when she felt a genuine smile taking over her countenance, but her children had a way of illuminating even her darkest days. After everything that had just happened, there they were: Rowan wrapped in a towel that was bigger than she was while Bailey tried to teach her how to whistle. The little girl was failing miserably, sputtering sprays of spit across her brother's patient face instead of producing the airy, musical sound, but he didn't mind. In fact, Bailey simply laughed at her, smiling good naturedly.

_This is something her father should teach her_, Marissa mused to herself with a hint of sadness and regret, but the thought was immediately replaced with another one, a thought more haunting and more unflattering in nature. _Ryan would have been there to teach Bailey…if you would have given him the chance, and he would have happily taught any other children you may have had anything and everything he knew, whether he was their father or not. _The day had only just begun, and already it had been emotionally draining. Not needing the added weight of her past mistakes weighing down her shoulders or her mood, she pushed aside her thoughts and clapped her hands together in an excited manner to get her children's attention.

"What do you say, Roly-Poly Rowy, are you ready to get dressed and go see your baby brother?"

With an excited squeal and a few girlish giggles, Rowan launched herself into her Mother's waiting arms, and the two of them, with an already dressed Bailey trailing behind, moved into the little girl's bedroom to get ready for the day ahead of them, a day that would, in all likelihood, be the last normal day they would have in a long time, and Marissa was determined to make it as carefree and happy for her two older children as she could.

"Happy Thanksgiving," a warm, congenial voice greeted them as the man walked up behind the four family members.

"Dr. Brighton, what are you doing here," Marissa asked, turning around to offer her favorite medical professional a warm smile. Shifting Rowan to her hip, she offered him a loose hug with her free arm, returning his holiday wishes. "Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, but I'm surprised to see you here. I was sure you'd make all your interns work so you could spend the day with your family."

"Well, that was the plan," he confided, laughing softly to himself, "but my daughter and her fiancé's flight was delayed out of D.C. due to bad weather, and my wife was sick of me sneaking my way into the food she had already prepared, so I was kicked out of the house and sent here to keep myself busy until it's time to pick my daughter up form the airport. Besides," he added, his voice becoming serious, "I really wanted to check on Quentin. He didn't have a good night last night."

"Is Appaloosa James still dropping in weight," Caitlyn inquired, concerned. After two weeks, Dr. Brighton and the rest of the hospital staff were used to her strange nicknames for her nephew.

"I really don't know why this is happening," the doctor responded. "He was doing so well for the first ten days, gaining weight in a steady and healthy manner, but then suddenly he stopped, and he's been losing weight ever since. He's gone from three pounds, fifteen ounces down to three pounds, ten ounces in the span of four days."

Without knowing what to say, everyone was quiet for several moments contemplating the news they had just received until Rowan spoke up. "Baby needs Mommy."

"Your Mom sees him everyday," Caitlyn reassured her niece, "and, as soon as he's healthy enough, he'll go home with you guys. Right now though he needs the doctors' and the nurses' help to get better."

"Rowy's right," Bailey agreed with his sister. "Quentin needs Mommy to take care of him. When we're sick, she makes us feel better, and she'd do the same for him, too."

"I would like to take him home," Marissa admitted. "His lungs are almost fully developed, his jaundice is gone, there's no infection, and he's maintaining his own body temperature. The only thing that's not improving is his weight, and I just….I think he would be happier in his own home, with his family, and away from the NICU. He needs love not medicine at this point."

"We'll see," the doctor placated her. "Let's give it another week, let his lungs finish developing, and then, if he's still not where he should be weight wise, maybe we'll try it your way. For now, why don't I go and talk to the nurses, tell them you're here, and arrange it so that you can spend some time with him?"

"Thank you, Dr. Brighton."

"I don't know about you," Caitlyn quipped, winking at her nephew, "but I think this is Quentin's way of rebelling against his name. I hate to tell you this, sis, but he confided in me a couple of days ago that he was really set on the name Draft Horse James, and, when you called him Quentin instead, it just crushed it."

"You do realize that the next time you have a kid, I'm going to be merciless when it comes to helping you choose a name," Marissa asked her younger sister.

"It's a good thing this mare has been sent out to pasture then, isn't it?" Smirking smugly at the surprised and slightly irritated scowl on her sibling's face, Caitlyn turned to Bailey and held her hand out for him. "Come on, kid," she urged, nodding her head towards the elevators, "let's blow this popsicle stand and head down to the cafeteria. Your silly aunt skipped breakfast this morning, because she accidentally slept in, and I can hear some heart attack inducing, chocolate frosted cream sticks calling my name."

"This discussion is not over yet," Marissa called out. "You have some serious explaining to do!" But her threats fell on deaf ears as her son disappeared down the hallway with his very cheeky aunt.

"Aunt Caitlyn," Bailey looked up from his own donut, a cake one with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, "can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, sweetie," she agreed, reaching across the cafeteria table to wipe the remnants of his mid-morning snack off of his face. Her sister would not be happy with her letting him ruin his lunch by eating junk food just as she would be annoyed if Marissa gave one of her sons a donut mere hours before Thanksgiving dinner, but, as an aunt, she felt it her duty to flaunt all the rules. "No matter what, if I know the answer, I'll tell you the truth."

"Did you know my Dad?"

Her eyes blinked rapidly in surprise. After a second, she shook her head softly. "Boy, kid, you like to cut right to the chase, don't you?" He said nothing and merely watched her carefully, waiting for the answer to his question. "Yes, yes, Bailey, I knew your Dad. But I have a question for you. How much has your Mom told you about him?"

"Well," he responded thoughtfully, setting his breakfast pastry aside, "she told me that she loved him and that she always will. She said that he could make her laugh and that he made her feel beautiful."

"That's because your Dad loved your Mom, too. Did she tell you anything else about him?"

"Not at first," Bailey admitted, "but I've been asking her a lot of questions about him, because I'm curious, you know, and she told me that I look like him and that the way I think about things for a long time before I say anything is something he used to do, too. Oh, and she said that he was afraid of heights, too, just like me."

"Among other things," the young aunt whispered darkly under her breath, but, luckily for her, her nephew did not hear the recriminating words. Clearing her throat, she looked up and watched the mature little boy in front of her for a moment before talking again. "You are a lot like your Dad, sweetie, but I'm not the right person for you to ask about him. Yes, I knew your Dad but not as well as your Mom did. You've got to remember that when she knew him, I was still living in Columbus. I only met him once."

Bailey considered her statement for several quiet minutes. Suddenly disinterested in his donut, he pushed his napkin away, and Caitlyn knew he wouldn't be eating any more of it. "What did he like," he finally spoke up, flashing the eyes of his father towards her in earnest curiosity. "Mommy said she'll help me find him someday if I want to, and I think I will, but I want to know what I should talk to him about when I do meet him."

"Kid, trust me, he'll let you talk about anything you want. He won't care what you talk to him about, just that you're there."

"Yeah, but I want to be like him; I want to be like my Dad. If Mommy loves him, then he's probably pretty cool, and, maybe if I'm like my Dad, she won't miss him as much."

"You don't have to do anything to be like your Dad, Bailey," Caitlyn told him sincerely, "because you're already like him. Do you know how you love sports, how you play baseball and soccer?" The little boy nodded his head to show that he was paying attention to what his aunt was saying. "Well, your Dad loved sports. In fact, he wrote about them."

"Really," the nine year old asked enthusiastically. "That's too cool, Aunt Caitlyn! Do you know that there's this guy that has my name in this sports magazine I have at home? Do you think my Dad might know him?"

Suddenly, tears filled her eyes. Ryan Atwood had never been her favorite person, and, after he had hurt her sister, she had promised herself she'd never let him do it again, but, seeing her nephew so excited about the prospect of having a connection with his Dad, she realize that perhaps her efforts to keep Marissa away from her former lover had been the wrong thing to do. After discovering she was pregnant, Marissa had come to her, left Seattle behind her, dropped her efforts to buy a dance studio there, and had simply packed her things and moved away from the emerald city for good. She had been scared, confused, and had wanted to immediately contact Ryan, but Caitlyn had talked her out of it, saying that she had to put her own needs first and figure her own life out before she confronted the father of her child. Then Bailey had been born, and Marissa had wanted to call Ryan to tell him about their son, but Caitlyn had just gotten her job offer in Atlanta and had convinced her sister it was a better idea to get her professional life in order before informing her ex that he was the father just in case Ryan and his wife tried to get custody of the baby for themselves. That had been the final scare tactic she had needed to keep her sister from telling her former lover about their child, and, by the time she became a mother herself and realized Ryan deserved a chance to know his son just as Bailey deserves a chance to know his father, Marissa was thoroughly afraid of losing the most important person in her life and refused to contact him. So, almost ten years after his birth, Bailey still had no idea that the nice guy in the sports magazine that shared his name was really the father he wanted to know so badly and that father, who could have been anywhere in the world and doing anything he wanted with his life as far as Caitlyn knew, had no idea he was a Dad.

But she was done interfering, for the only thing her seemingly good advice had done over the years was hurt her sister more. It had kept her from going to Ryan with the news that they had a child together, and it had led her to marry Andrew which just turned into a giant, colossal mess. The only good things that had come out of her brief marriage to the wealthy horse breeder were Rowan and Quentin. From now on Caitlyn would let Marissa make her own decisions…whether she agreed with them or not. With that in mind, she stood up, holding out her hand, once again, for her nephew, and threw their garbage away.

"Maybe, Bailey," she conceded, avoiding his piercing blue eyes, "maybe your Dad does know that guy in the sports magazine with your name."

"Baby's always sweeping," Rowan stated, sounding grumpy, as she pointed into the nursery at her younger brother. The two of them were standing outside of the NICU together waiting for Caitlyn and Bailey to return from the cafeteria so that Marissa could go in and sit with Quentin to feed him. "Rowy wants to play with him."

"I know you do, sweetie," Marissa attempted to soothe her, "and he wants to play with you, too, but he has to get better first, and sleeping helps him get stronger. It's good for him."

"Duice, too,"

Laughing softly, Marissa kissed her daughter's cheek affectionately. "Well you and your brother can have juice when you're sick, but Quentin can only have milk."

"Milk's yucky, Mommy," the little girl complained, wrinkling her petite nose. "Can baby have popdicle? Baiwey and Rowy do."

"No, he can't have popsicles either, honey." Seeing as how her daughter didn't quite understand, she decided to attempt to steer the conversation in another direction. "When you were a baby, you only drank milk, too, just like Quentin."

"What about Baiwey?"

"That's all baby's ever drink," Marissa explained. "Eventually, once babies are old enough, they'll start eating cereal with their milk."

Excited, Rowan questioned, "like Wucky Charms?"

"No, it's more like your oatmeal but without any brown sugar." Seeing her daughter's disgusted expression, Marissa simply smiled before continuing to talk to her. "Then, after a while, babies will start to eat food from jars, stuff like mashed bananas and creamed corn, and, when they're old enough, they can start to drink juice and water just like you do."

"Ew, Mommy, dat's yucky." Giggling, the little girl buried her head into Marissa's shoulder, her arms wrapping even tighter around her neck before she loosened her grasp to gaze up into her Mother's eyes. "I love you, Mommy."

It was exactly what Marissa needed to hear in that moment, especially after the morning she had lived through, but, before she could reply and tell her daughter that she loved her even more, another voice spoke up interrupting their moment, a voice that was familiar, a voice that made excited tingles shoot through her entire body, awakened every nuance of her tired being and making her feel truly alive for the first time in more than ten and a half years.

"You're a Mommy," the voice asked her as she slowly turned around to face it.

"Yes, mister stwanger, she's my Mommy," Rowan felt the need to answer the question for her. "And she's Baiwey's Mommy and baby's Mommy, too."

The little girl's announcement left him speechless.

"Hello, Ryan," Marissa finally spoke up, her sapphire eyes locked in an intense gaze with her ex-lovers.

Never breaking their connection, he returned her greeting, "Hello, Marissa."

Neither of them noticed the young auburn haired woman stepping off the elevator with a nine year old blonde boy holding her hand, nor did they hear that same woman gasp audibly at the sight in front of her before quickly whispering an incoherent comment to her nephew and leading him away from the precarious situation outside of the NICU and into the labyrinth of hallways inside of the hospital with the excuse of having a scavenger hunt to help pass the time. However, even if they would have heard her, it was highly probable that neither would have been able to look away from the other, for, even after ten and a half years, the two ex-lovers only had eyes for each other.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Since I haven't been around all week like I said I would be, this is my peace offering to El: the next chapter to Blue Light Crashing like she requested. As for the other stories, updates have been written. Although I haven't been here, I haven't been slacking on my fics. In fact, I've started a new one...about Liason. ;) LOL Thanks for being patient with me. Also, just to let some of you know, as I told you, this story is personal, too. Although there wasn't a Bailey (an older child with a previous relationship) and there was love in the marriage, this basically is the story of my Mom's first marriage. Basically I'm Rowan and my little sister (sorry Mariah, lol) is Quentin. Instead of being ten weeks early, my sister was only six, but, nineteen years ago, that was a big deal. Instead of taking place during Thanksgiving, it took place during Easter. However, basically everything else is true to form. It's just one of the many stories I now find amusing about my ass of a real father. He! Anyway, I've rambled enough. Enjoy!  
_  
_Charlynn_

Chapter Four

You hear of moments where in someone's life time stands still, but, until it happens to you, it is a concept that is rather difficult to grasp. However, Marissa Cooper Channing knew the feeling for she had experienced it herself once. Years before on what she had assumed would be an uneventful flight home, she had sat next to a rakishly attractive young man who, at the same time, was devilishly flirtatious and yet compassionate and earnest in his attempt to be her friend. In those brief minutes they had shared together while their plane was crashing, she learned what it felt like to have time stand still, and, as she stood in the hospital hallway outside of the NICU with her two and half year old daughter resting rather belligerently on her hip, she experienced it for the second time in her life.

There he was. After so many years of unvoiced regrets, nights of crying herself to sleep, of loving him from afar, and of dreaming of the moment when they would finally see each other again, there he was, standing before her when she least expected him. Wasn't that the way life always worked though?

In all her imagined reunions, things were never as complicated as they were in that moment. She wasn't married to another man with a divorce pending, he already knew that they shared a son together, and, although it was a vain thought, she always pictured herself looking radiant and so gorgeous it would take him a lifetime to forget her face. However, while she stood across from him, mesmerized by his crystal clear, cobalt eyes she had dreamed about for almost eleven years, she realized that, despite not being the perfect reunion she had hopefully anticipated, she wouldn't change a thing about it, not the slight stain on the cuff of her right sleeve where her arm had accidentally brushed through Bailey's spilled orange juice that morning, not the tired, dark circles haunting her defenseless eyes, not even the touching awkwardness that separated them, an awkwardness that made her feel like a young, carefree schoolgirl in love for the first time.

Slowly though, their private moment in time was interrupted. Rowan fidgeted, fighting to be released so she could escape her Mother's tight clutches on her rambunctious body, Ryan ran a nervous hand through his already mussed and unruly hair, and she shuffled her feet, glancing down at her simple ballet flats before smiling timidly up at her ex-lover through veiled and misty lashes.

Startling her, Ryan was the first to speak. "Are you okay?"

"What," Marissa questioned without thinking, immediately confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you're in a hospital, so I just…."

"Oh, no, I'm fine. We're here for my son," she explained, motioning him to the window of the nursery. "See the little boy in the far corner, the really little one who's sound asleep right now?" He nodded his head to show that he did. "That's my son, my youngest child, Quentin. He was born two weeks ago, two and half months early, but the doctors say he should be alright. What about you," she asked, turning to face him, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan dismissed her concerns, "I'm just here for a drug test." As her mouth fell open in shock, he laughed softly before clarifying. "I'm applying for a new job, and it's a part of their application process. That's why I'm here actually, in Atlanta. There was an opening for the sports editor position, I sent my resume in, and they called me for an interview."

"You're giving up your job traveling? I never thought you'd do that."

"Well, people change; I changed. I grew up," he grinned sheepishly making her laugh. "I've realized that's life too short to spend the majority of my time on the road…or actually on a plane, and you know how well I like those."

Teasing him, Marissa asked, "so, you're still afraid of falling?"

"Not of falling," he corrected her, "just of heights." The significant implication of his words was not missed upon either of them. "If you're going to be here for a while, why don't we go down to the cafeteria? You and I can each get a coffee," he offered while walking off towards the elevators, "my treat, and the little princess in your arms can get whatever she wants."

"Wait, no," she called out, the anxiety in her voice stopping Ryan dead in his tracks. "You can't go down there."

"To the cafeteria, why not? As long as I don't get a poppy seed muffin, I'll be fine."

"Caitlyn's down there," Marissa offered quickly. Technically, it wasn't a lie, but she also knew it was only a half truth. "And I know how well you two get along. The hospital is understaffed today because of the holiday. They'd be unprepared for World War III."

"Okay," he moved to stand beside her once again. "If you think it's best for me to stay away from your sister, then I will, but I don't have any hard feelings for Caitlyn. Everything she said to me all those years ago was true. Unfortunately, it took me too long to figure it out." Shadows crossed Marissa's face, dimming the shining, happy light of her eyes, and Ryan noticed. Not wanting to upset her further, he changed the subject. "If you don't mind, then I'll just stand here with you two lovely ladies and wait for my appointment."

Before she could reply in an affirmative manner, Rowan, once again, started squirming in her arms, this time voicing her annoyance at being held. "Mommy," the little girl huffed in exasperation, "put me down!" Thinking better of ordering her Mother, she added a cheeky, "please," before offering Marissa her sweetest, most innocent, always mischievous smile. Once the young sprite was standing, she turned towards Ryan, tugged on the leg of his loose blue jeans, and introduced herself, complete with a dainty, melodramatic curtsy. "Hello, Mister Stwanger. I'd Rowy Caween Channing."

"It's nice to meet you," he looked up at Marissa so she could silently mouth the little girl's name to him, "Rowan Careen Channing. My name is Ryan Atwood. I'm an old….I'm a friend of your Mommy's."

Too absorbed in sharing an amused grin, neither Ryan nor Marissa noticed the confused expression upon the precocious two year old's face. However, luckily for her Mother, she shrugged her curiosity off. After all, she had more important things to do than ponder the bewildering aspects of life. "Mommy," she spoke up again, breaking the second intense gaze the two adults had shared since seeing each other again after so long, "Rowy watch TV?"

"Sure, baby," Marissa agreed, signaling for Ryan to follow them towards the small waiting room a few paces away from the NICU. There, while they talked, Rowan could watch a movie and play with the numerous toys scattered around the brightly decorated lounge area. Once she was situated, the two of them took seats on a couch together, their bodies close enough to have an intimate conversation but far enough apart to appear as if they were merely friendly acquaintances. "So, a drug test on a holiday? Is there any particular reason why the newspaper couldn't let you stay at home with your family and wait an extra day?"

"Well, first of all," he teased, "the news doesn't sleep, even for a national holiday, so that excuse wouldn't work for them, and, secondly, there's no family."

"But I thought Theresa…"

"Theresa and I have been divorced now for more than four years," Ryan admitted.

Not knowing what to say, Marissa simply offered a quick, almost incoherent apology. They both knew the words were mumbled insincerely, and, while the knowledge of her petty behavior horrified Marissa, it made a satisfied, pleasant warmth spread through Ryan.

"It's okay," he offered her. "It's something that should have happened long ago. Hell, if we're going to be honest with each other," – he didn't notice the tortured flash of guilt that clouded her eyes briefly before she carefully repositioned the mask of friendly interest,- "I should have never married her in the first place. After what happened between us…that night," his soft, slightly husky voice betrayed the feelings of regret and sadness he was desperately trying to disguise, "I ended up going back to her…just like you said I should. We tried to make it work, basically living separate lives in the same house. In exchange for taking me back, I had to agree to try to have a baby with her. Five years later and still no baby, we went to a fertility specialist. It turns out it was impossible for her to have children."

"But she told you she was pregnant in the first place all those years ago to get you to marry her."

"It was a lie," he replied in an even tone. "My whole life since I was sixteen has been a lie, but no more. It took me a while to figure out what I wanted, but I know what that is now, and I'm here to try and get it. I want what you have," he continued, motioning towards her daughter. "I want the perfect family. How many kids did Rowan say you have, three, and, judging by that rock on your finger, I assume you also have a very lucky husband at home, too."

"Appearances are deceiving, Ryan," Marissa stated matter-of-factly. "Yes, I have three kids, Bailey is the oldest, then there's Rowan, and finally there's Quentin, but no family is perfect." Deciding to be honest about at least one aspect of her life, she continued. "I'm getting a divorce. My husband cheated on me, and, in fact, asked me for the divorce this morning. Life works in mysterious ways, doesn't it? Ten years ago I destroyed a marriage, and, now, all these years later, another woman has destroyed mine."

"You didn't destroy my marriage," he stated adamantly. "I did that myself."

"I still think it's karma."

"No matter what, I think you're handling it well. You look good. I mean," he stumbled on his words, blushing, "you look healthy….happy….you look good."

Grasping his hand, she squeezed his sweaty palm tightly in order to reassure him. "You look good, too." Breaking through their moment, a nurse appeared in the waiting room to tell Marissa that she could see her son. Standing up, she was surprised when Ryan did not let go of her hand but, instead, reached to entwine both sets of their fingers together. "It was good to see you," she told him truthfully, hating herself for not saying more.

"It was good to see you, too," he returned with the same sideways smile on his face she had loved since the first time she had seen it. "And, just to let you know, your husband is a fool to cheat on you, to hurt you, to throw his life with you and your children away like that."

"Maybe he is," she conceded, shrugging her shoulders, "but we all the play the fool at some point in our lives. All we can hope is that our foolish behavior is forgivable." Letting go of his hands, she turned towards her daughter, picked her up, and left the sitting lounge without another look in his direction. With her back turned to him, Marissa couldn't see the perplexity marring his handsome face, and he couldn't see the abject pain contorting hers.

She had always wondered what sort of love she still felt for her ex. Was it merely the love a woman feels for the father of her child, was it a nostalgic love for the few, brief, wonderful months they had spent with each other, was it the platonic love a person feels for a close friend, or was she in love with him? Seeing him that day, talking to him, touching him told her everything she needed to know and more to answer that question. Marissa Cooper Channing was still very much in love with Ryan Atwood.

"Are you ever going to talk to me?"

The question broke through the wall of silence that had descended between the two sisters on the way to Caitlyn's house. While the kids were occupied in the backseat, Bailey by listening to music and reading and Rowan by sleeping, the younger Cooper sibling had been driving her sister's car, a sister who was so lost in her own thoughts she hadn't notice the deliberate circles they had been driving in for the past hour.

"Sure," Marissa responded too eagerly. "Why don't you tell me why you took a cab to the hospital today instead of driving yourself?"

"I didn't feel like driving."

"But you were adamant that I let you drive home."

"Yes, because, when a person is behind the wheel, they're in control," Caitlyn explained, "and I needed to be the one who not only steered this vehicle but also our conversation. I know you well enough to realize you'd never voluntarily tell me about what happened at the hospital today."

Feigning innocence and confused as to how her sister knew anything, Marissa stated, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Rowan and I waited until it was time to see Quentin, and, since you weren't back yet, one of the nurses sat with her outside of the NICU so I could go in alone."

"You're leaving out a very important piece of information. You're not telling me who you saw or what you did." The older woman merely shrugged her shoulders in mock misunderstanding. "Damn it, Marissa," Caitlyn exploded, "I saw you! I saw you and Rowan with him, talking to him….to Ryan Atwood."

Suddenly nervous, the blonde asked, "Bailey?"

"Bailey never saw him. I suggested a scavenger hunt around the hospital to get him away from the scene, so, for now, you're safe."

"What do you mean for now?"

"He's getting close to the truth. What do you think we talked about the entire time we were in the cafeteria? That's right," the younger woman confirmed the wary look in her sister's eyes, "we talked about his Dad. He wanted to know what he was like so that he could be more like him, he told me about this sports writer who has his same name; isn't that a coincidence, and, now that Ryan knows you're living in Atlanta, it's only a matter of time before one of them figures out the truth. Did you say anything to Ryan today?"

"No," Marissa admitted. "It wasn't the time to say anything. It didn't feel right." Watching her sister glare at her out of the corner of her eye, she tried to explain. "We just saw each other for the first time in nearly eleven years, he's relocating, getting a new job, settling down, and then there's me with a son in the hospital and a divorce pending…."

"Wait a second, did you just say divorce," the auburn haired woman interrupted. "You finally did it; you finally went and saw a lawyer to file the papers. Good for you."

"Actually, Andrew asked me for a divorce. He admitted that he's with another woman, that he's in love with her, and that it's time to end our marriage."

"When did this all happen?"

"This morning."

"That ass asked you for a divorce on Thanksgiving morning while your son was still in the NICU, and you're still going to go back to that house to prepare dinner for him and his parents?" Furious, Caitlyn slammed her hand down onto the horn of her sister's car, startling Marissa. "Oh hell no!"

"I already told him I would, so I …."

"Oh, you can do whatever the hell you want to at this point," the younger woman said stubbornly. "He's the one who should be doing everything in his power to kiss your ass in order to make sure you don't take him to the cleaners with this divorce. So, what you're going to do is you're going to call Christopher and Elizabeth, cancel dinner, but not say a word to your louse of a soon-to-be ex."

"And how am I supposed to avoid him when we still, technically, live in the same house? Plus," Marissa added, twisting around in her seat to watch her children for several long moments, "how am I supposed to explain cancelling Thanksgiving to my kids?"

"Why are you even asking those questions," her sister chided her. "You'll stay with me; you'll have Thanksgiving with me."

"Caitlyn, we can't impose upon you, Jackson, or the boys."

"What are you talking about?" She was so distracted by the emotions she was feeling, Caitlyn had to pull over the car, put it in park, and turn to stare into Marissa's eyes. "We're family. For thirteen years, you were the only person in my life who loved me, who took care of me. So, now that you've hit a rough patch, it's time for me to take care of you, and, if that means sharing some of my pad tai and dumplings with you while you squeeze your skinny ass next to mine on the couch as we annoy Jackson and comment upon all the football players' cute butts, then that's exactly what we're going to do."

With tears of gratitude and love in her eyes, Marissa took her sister's hand in hers. "Caity, you don't owe me anything, and, even if you did," she laughed briefly, making the younger woman smile, "the nine months you put up with me while I was pregnant with Bailey, when I was a confused, emotional, grumpy mess, more than makes us even."

"It's not about owing you anything or paying back a favor; this is about me helping out my sister just because I love her. Now," Caitlyn ordered, "dry those tears, tell me what happened with Ryan, and smile, damn it. This is a good day after all. You've managed to get rid of the ball and chain and see your ex-lover all within the span of a few hours. That's more than some women accomplish in years."

A small giggle and a smile later, Marissa did as she was told, and, surprising even herself, once she started talking about Ryan, she couldn't stop. "He was so sweet. He was patient with Rowan and made her feel special and important in our conversation. He was sympathetic about Quentin being in the hospital, and he even called Andrew a fool for divorcing me." So caught up in the memories of her conversation, Marissa didn't notice the all-knowing and slightly incredulous smirk on her sister's face. "And he's divorced," the blonde added, sneaking a quick look in Caitlyn's direction for she was eager to see the younger woman's reaction.

"It's about damn time!"

"He admitted that, too, that it was something he should have done a long time ago. But, what was weird about the confession was that I didn't feel vindicated for being right all those years ago nor did it make me feel better that he realized he should have left her for me; I just felt sad for him." Stopping for a moment to collect her thoughts, the older woman continued after taking a deep, steadying breath. "His whole life was a lie, Caity. The past twenty one years of his life have been based upon a lie."

"I don't understand."

"Theresa, his ex-wife, told him when they were sixteen that she was pregnant, that's why he married her, but it turns out that she could never have children. She tricked him into marrying her."

"She didn't force him to say yes, she didn't force him to stay married to her for all those years, and she sure as hell didn't force him into hurting you," Caitlyn pointed out. "I get why you could feel sorry for him, but he's not completely blameless in this mess."

"No one ever is," Marissa replied cryptically. Although the younger woman had wished to continue their conversation, her sister's open ended, rather ambiguous statement closed their discussion, leaving her afraid and nervous for what the older woman was going to do next. After all, Marissa had not always used a clear head when it came to making decisions about Ryan Atwood, and reasonable was something her sister definitely wasn't especially when her life was in such turmoil.

It had been a Thanksgiving Marissa would never forget. As her sister had pointed out, it wasn't everyday that a woman's husband asked her for a divorce after admitting he was in love with another woman and then met up with her former lover whom she just so happened to share a secret son with and still had romantic feelings for. And that had just been the morning.

Once they had gotten back to Caitlyn's, chaos and confusion had ensued. With four kids there, ages ranging from nine to one, one roguish and playful man, and an unlimited supply of bakery made turkey sugar cookies, the house had been filled with loud laughter, childish bickering, and enthusiastic conversation. The commotion had been music to Marissa's ears.

While she and Caitlyn had handled the ordering of the food, merely sitting on the bar stools at the raised kitchen counter and calmly chatting like only sisters can with wide, generous cups of sweetened coffee in their hands, Jackson had played with the children. Upon his insistence, they had gone turkey hunting, but, instead of the traditional hunting rules where actual game was stalked, Bailey had served as the potential Thanksgiving dinner, marshmallow guns had served as their weapons of choice, and football game updates had served as their mating calls to attract their wild game. In the end, he had ended up the hunted instead of the hunter, and Caitlyn had been forced to help him get mashed marshmallows out of his hair, nose, and ears, while Marissa had been quick and sly enough to snap several pictures of her brother-in-law for future bribery situations. Once order had been restored and food delivered, the intimate family had settled down in the living room together, their chosen takeout in their laps, while the seven of them had watched the parade just as Marissa had promised her daughter. Luckily, Caitlyn had recorded it, too.

After dinner and the parade, the younger kids had been exhausted and carried to bed, Rowan in her Mother's arms, JJ in his Dad's, and Carter in Bailey's after he had volunteered to help out his aunt. He had returned though to watch the football game with the adults, excusing himself an hour later to go upstairs and read some more before he went to bed.

The rest of the evening had passed by rather simply. Just as Caitlyn had insisted, she and Marissa had made complimentary remarks about the football players' best _ass_ets to annoy Jackson until they had tired of the teasing and had turned to a more feminine form of entertainment: painting their nails. So it had been with a fresh manicure and pedicure that Marissa had taken herself to bed at ten o'clock, leaving her sister and her brother-in-law alone for some private time and offering herself the privacy she needed to complete a Thanksgiving ritual.

Situated snuggly in the center of the guest room's bed, the various throw pillows used for decoration surrounding her petite form to make her feel not as alone on the king sized mattress, she sat watching The Nutcracker, but while her body was trapped mercilessly in the present, her mind was wandering back over time to the distant past when she had watched that same movie snuggled into the side of the only man she had ever loved. They were memories she cherished, and, if she was still enough, quiet enough, focused enough, she could almost smell Ryan's spicy, purely masculine scent, she could feel his strong, comforting arms wrapped around her vulnerable form, and she could sense his heartbeat moving beneath her in time with her own. She barely saw any of the beloved movie that night, for her eyes were too clouded with emotional tears to see clearly, but, if she had known that the man she was dreaming about was sitting in his lonely hotel room that late, Thanksgiving night with the same movie playing on his TV screen while thoughts of her ran through his tortured, haunted mind, those same tears which she was just capable of retaining and preventing from falling, would have flown freely down her cheeks, wetting her delicate, porcelain skin, and painting her countenance with the saline evidence that he still had her heart and, in all likelihood, always would.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Now that we've divided the investments and savings," their family lawyer who was very close to pushing eighty years old sighed, moving his gold rimmed glasses up his long, thin, hawk like nose, "we need to discuss the settlement of property. For two kids who were married for only a brief period of time, you managed to accumulate a vast amount of acreage."

They were meeting with an attorney to iron out the fine details of their separation, opting to go with a joint, mutual dissolution of their marriage instead of prolonging the inevitable by going through a long, sordid, drawn-out court case. Despite never wanting the same thing while married, the soon-to-be exes found that their settlement wishes were similar, so dividing their property would be uncomplicated and pain free, giving them hope that perhaps their relationship as divorced parents would be a healthier one than that of a married couple.

It was two weeks before Christmas, Marissa was finally putting her life back in order after living in limbo since giving birth a month before to her premature son, and, as soon as the meeting was over, she was picking Rowan up from a friend's house and the two of them were going shopping for Bailey's birthday. Her son was turning ten, an important year, she believed, for it was his first foray into double digits, and, with everything else falling apart and changing around her children, she was determined to make both Bailey's birthday and the holiday season special for all three of her kids.

Interrupting her thoughts, the elderly gentleman cleared his throat and continued. "First, there is the matter of the home the two of you built together and the 275 acres of land that accompanies it. Have you decided what you want to do with it? Will one of you be living there, or is it to be sold and the profits spilt?"

"He can have it," Marissa said nonchalantly. "I have my studio."

"Actually," Andrew contradicted her, "this is one point my parents have demanded I stand my ground on." Curious, both she and the lawyer turned in their seats to face the younger man. "They want it stipulated in the divorce settlement that you are to be allowed to live in the house, free of charge - I'll pay the mortgage while you'd only be responsible for the utilities and upkeep - until Quentin graduates from high school."

"I appreciate the offer, but, if it's just going to be the four of us," she explained, "I'd rather not live out in the middle of nowhere in that big house. There are no neighbors within a mile radius, my sister's in town, my studio is in town, and Bailey's already expressed his desire to live at the apartment again."

"Why don't we put a provision in the settlement papers," the attorney suggested. "You and the children can continue living there for as long as you want, but then, if you do move out, we'll include a clause which states ownership and responsibility for the property reverts back to Andrew." The separated spouses both nodded their head in approval. "Alright next," the elderly man directed, "what is to become of Mrs. Channing's dance studio?"

"Please, it's either Marissa or Miss Cooper."

"Of course," he agreed.

"Marissa should retain sole ownership of her business," Andrew brought them back to the topic at hand. "She purchased the building on her own, built up her clientele, and is the only one who's responsible for its success. I had nothing to do with it."

"Noted. Now, there are the assets in Mr. Channing's name, the horse farm, the racetrack, and the riding stables."

"No, we don't need to discuss those properties," Marissa stated, standing up to pour herself a glass of water, "and we don't need to discuss the rental houses that are in both of our names either. Everything that is associated with the Channing family business has been passed down to Andrew from his father. Just as he had nothing to do with building up my studio, I've had nothing to do with the horses. I've never even ridden one. When the kids and I went to the farm, I would ride the four wheelers and stay away from the living things. I grew up in Southern California, on the beach, in a gated community. That's not exactly the best way to engender positive feelings for nature in someone. And, as for the rental houses," she continued, retaking her seat, "those were purchased from profits from the Channing estate. The only reason my name is on those deeds was to help build up my credit."

Addressing the younger man, the attorney asked, "is this alright with you, Andrew?"

"It's fine," he answered, "but my parents and I would at least like to offer her alimony." Looking at his soon-to-be ex-wife, he continued. "While we've been married you've become accustomed to a certain way of life, to expensive cars, an infinite credit limit, and only the top brands for both you and children. It would be no big deal for me to keep you in the same style you've been living for the past few years."

"I've gone from a debutant socialite to living in a shelter before," she pointed out. "I think I can handle having to shop at department stores and trading in my luxury car for a more economical version. I appreciate your offer of alimony," Marissa said sincerely, "but I'm a big girl. I went into our marriage an independent woman who could support herself, and I will leave it the same way."

"Is this satisfactory with you, Andrew," the lawyer asked. Her ex-husband waved his hand in approval. "Alright, so finally we've come to the most important issue: the children. Where do the two of you stand on child support and health care for the three kids?"

"Two kids," she corrected. "He's only responsible for two of my children. Bailey is not his son."

"Something you've constantly thrown in my face and reminded me about," Andrew snapped at her, the first trace of animosity between the couple surfacing during the meeting.

"Please," she scoffed, "do not pull the wounded step-father routine. You never showed any interest in my son, let alone your own children, and I was not about to let Bailey forget the fact that he has a real father out there, a man who is good, and honest, and loving, and who, if he knew about our child, would cherish him."

"Well, no matter what you think or feel," her disgruntled former partner stated, "I've been a constant in Bailey's life since he was six, and my parents think it would be best if…."

"Listen," Marissa interrupted him, "I love your parents. They've treated me more like a daughter than my own parents did, but that does not mean I'm going to sit by while they dictate our divorce. This is between you and me, and my son, Bailey, has nothing to do with the dissolution of our marriage. However, despite my pride, I can't stop you from helping financially with Rowan and Quentin; they, after all, are your children as well. That said, I have no need for monthly payments in their name. Instead, I would rather you make either monthly, yearly, or perhaps even just one lump investment in their names, money that is to be set aside, money that can compound and accumulate interest, so that when they are of age and ready to set off in the world on their own, they have a nest egg. It can either go towards their college education, their first home, or starting their own business – I don't care; it's their choice."

"And health care," the older gentleman asked her. "Where do you stand on that?"

"Because I own my own business, I have to pay for health insurance, but so does Andrew. In my opinion," she shared, "it would make the most sense for the both of us to carry the children on our policies, so that if one policy will not pay a claim, the other will."

"Are these stipulations satisfactory for you, Andrew?"

"Yes," he answered the lawyer.

"I guess that leaves us with custody then. Have the two of you discussed it?"

"We have," Marissa revealed.

Scrubbing his face tiredly, Andrew spoke up. "Like Marissa basically said earlier, I'm not a good parent. I know that, she knows that, my parents know that, and so do the kids. However, I am the only father they'll ever have, and I don't want to completely lose touch with them. Plus, my parents adore both Rowan and Quentin. I need to make sure they remain in their lives."

"I would never keep the kids from Christopher and Elizabeth," she interjected. "They've been nothing but good to me and the children, and Rowan and Quentin will only benefit from having their grandparents in their lives."

"Thank you," he acknowledged her gesture. "I know they'll appreciate that. Anyway," he refocused their conversation, "all I'm requesting is visitation, a chance to see both kids around the holidays, their birthdays, and for one week in the summer so I can take them on vacation. Marissa can have sole custody."

Looking at both of his clients, the attorney questioned, "and do you want to put down in writing when each party will receive the children during the holidays or would you prefer to work that out privately?"

"Privately," they both answered simultaneously.

"Alright then," he smiled down at them as he stood up, waiting for them to rise to their feet as well before continuing. "That should take care of everything we need to discuss today. If there are any other details, I'll have my secretary contact the both of you, but, if not, the paperwork should be filed after the New Year." With that, he shook his clients' hands and walked them out of his office, watching the former spouses turn away from each other and leave the building without a second glance in each others direction.

The mall was washed in hues of red and green, the occasional touch of silver or gold illuminating the festive holiday decorations, the air was filled with the delicious aroma of baked goods, Christmas candles, and a mixture of subtle, exotic perfumes, and the atmosphere was enhanced by the twinkling bells and hollow horns that profusely played seasonal songs of joy and reverence, and, in the center of the chaos and confusion, stood Marissa Cooper, her arms filled with numerous shopping bags overflowing with birthday gifts for her oldest son and her rambunctious two and half year old daughter, trying, rather unsuccessfully, to have a conversation with her premature infant's doctor on her cell phone while keeping an eye on her little girl.

"No, Dr. Brighton, this is a perfect time to call as long as you don't mind a little extra background noise," Marissa spoke loudly into the hand held device. "I could use a little good news right now."

So engrossed in the conversation, she never noticed the blonde haired, blue eyed man she knew so well approach her from behind, but her squirming daughter did. As he walked up to his former lover, Ryan smiled brightly at Rowan, waving to her and laughing at her exuberance and determination to escape her Mother's tight grasp upon her little body. He watched in fascination as the small girl pushed and prodded until Marissa gave up, bending over to let the child stand on her own, he studied in wonder at how a woman he had always believed to be the most beautiful person in the world seemed to have only become more graceful and perfect in eleven years time, and he listened to that same woman squeal joyously into her mobile, celebrating the fact that her son had finally reached the benchmark weight of five pounds and would be released from the hospital the very next day, right in time, she expressed, to help celebrate Bailey's birthday.

He was still observing her as she snapped the phone shut and dropped it in her oversized tote bag that served as a carryall for both her things and her kids', looking down to her right hand side where she expected to find her daughter standing and waiting for her patiently. However, when she was only confronted with an empty space, she whirled around, seemingly calm words rushing forth from her plump lips while the worry in her dazzling eyes belied her anxiety she was feeling in that moment.

"Rowan Careen," she admonished, her outburst dying on her lips at the sight before her. Swallowing thickly, she looked up at the only man she had ever loved holding her daughter protectively in his arms while the sly little girl wrapped her pudgy hands around his neck.

"Look, Mommy, it's Mister Itwood," the two year old call out.

"It's Mr. Atwood, baby."

However, the little girl just ignored her Mother. "Mister Itwood, Rowy is tired, and hungwy, and firsty, and boreded. How is you, Mister Itwood?"

"I'm doing much better now that I've found you and your Mom," he admitted while grinning at the precocious sprout in his arms.

"Were you shopping for Baiwey's birfday, too," she asked him.

"No, just trying to occupy my time. It's pretty lonely in a big city when you don't have any friends."

"Rowy's your friend," she told him sweetly, kissing his cheek, "and so's Mommy and Baiwey, and the baby."

"Well, that makes me a very lucky man," he stated seriously, making Rowan smile broadly. Looking over at Marissa, his eyes were alight with warmth and humor. Addressing her, he asked, "so, what's this about Quentin? He gets to come home?"

"Yeah," she beamed. "When they weighed him this afternoon, he was at five pounds, one ounce. The appetite he inherited from his Mother has apparently kicked in, and he can't stop eating. Hopefully, he doesn't have my metabolism, too, though."

"Or your penchant for junk food," Ryan teased, remembering their time spent together years before. She merely shrugged her shoulders admitting her weakness before he continued. "Are you two ladies finished, or do you still have shopping left to do?"

"We're weaving," Rowan answered, pouting. "Baiwey's done with school at tfree, and Mommy has to pick him up."

"What do you say to the idea of me helping you to your car, then," Ryan offered Marissa hopefully. "I'll carry this sack of potatoes," he affectionately jostled the little girl in his arms, resituating her so that she could sit across his shoulders, "while you handle the bags."

"That sounds nice," she agreed, handing her daughter a candy cane to keep her occupied so that she and Ryan could talk, flashing him an apologetic smile at the precarious, sticky situation she had put him in with Rowan. "Did you get the job?"

"I did - start after the New Year. Right now I'm just trying to tie up all my loose ends at home and get my life in order for the move. How are those changes in your life going?"

She knew he was referring to the divorce and was thankful for his guarded terms, not wanting her daughter's curiosity to perk up and hound her with dozens of questions, the answers to which she wouldn't understand anyway. "Surprisingly, it's going well," she answered. For once in our marriage, Andrew and I are finally agreeing on things." After they shared a quiet laugh, she continued talking. "It's weird though, closing that chapter of my life and starting a new one. Four years ago when we got married, I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him, but now, two children and a failed marriage later, I'm single again."

Realizing what she had just revealed, that she was not married when her school-aged, oldest son was born, made Marissa abruptly stop, and all the color drained from her face.

"Are you alright," Ryan asked her.

Looking up at him, she became conscious of the fact that her statements had not raised his awareness, that he did not suspect anything to be amiss or strange with her words or her behavior. "No, I'm fine," she replied smoothly, relieving his concern, before carrying on with the conversation. "Was it weird for you, leaving Theresa and moving on with your life?"

"No, it wasn't," he answered. "In fact, it was liberating. For the first time in more than fifteen years, I was making my own decisions and doing something that I wanted, but it was different with me and Theresa," he pointed out. "I was never in love with her." As they approached her car, he helped her place her shopping bags in the trunk before buckling Rowan in her car seat. Leaning against her door as she sat down behind the steering wheel, he smiled down upon her. "It was good seeing you again, Marissa."

"It was good to see you, too, Ryan," she agreed, returning his easy smile. "And, just to let you know, our situations….they're not so different." She paused momentarily to let her words sink in. "I'll see you around."

Offering him one last shy grin, she watched as he shut her car door and stood rooted in his spot as she backed out of her parking space and pulled away from the busy shopping center, his form never moving until she had faded from sight. Wiping away the lone tear that had, without permission, escaped from her left eye, Marissa glanced into her rearview mirror and smiled at her daughter.

"Are you otay, Mommy," the little girl asked concerned.

"I am," the young mother answered truthfully. Looking back to the road, she pressed on, speaking softly under her breath, "and that's why I'm afraid."

In the blink of an eye, the two weeks before the holidays had flown by, and here she was, on Christmas Eve, dropping her two youngest children off at their grandparents' house. Bailey's birthday had come and gone, bringing with it a whirlwind of activity and leaving her with a supremely happy ten year. To celebrate, she and her son had spent the day together, going to the history museum per his request, having lunch at his favorite restaurant, and then going back to Caitlyn's house where there was Chinese food, cake, presents, and games to ring in the day he turned a decade old. Once again, for a very special event, it was going to be just the two of them.

Per the arrangements she had made with Andrew, Rowan and Quentin would spend the evening with him and his parents, and he would drop both kids off at her house early Christmas morning so they could spend the day with her, Bailey, their aunt and uncle, and their cousins and see what Santa had brought them. Caitlyn had offered her home to Bailey and Marissa, insisting that her sister and oldest nephew should spend the evening with her and her family, but, after talking to her son, Marissa had declined, claiming honestly that they just wanted to kick back and watch their favorite holiday movies while eating ridiculous amounts of cookies from the bakery. Even after so many years, Marissa had yet to master the fine art of baking.

As she expected, as soon as her hand approached the door to ring the bell, it was thrown open to reveal her soon-to-be former in-laws; they never let her actually reach the point where she could announce her arrival for they were always too eager to see her and the kids. However, what she wasn't expecting was to see another woman in the foyer, a woman several years older than she was, or hear the raucous sounds of teenagers laughing and messing around coming from the family room.

"Marissa," Elizabeth beamed, enveloping the younger woman in her arms for a tight hug despite the fact that she was holding Quentin, the kids' small overnight bag, and Rowan's hand. "Come in, come in," the grandmother urged her.

"There's the little guy," Christopher called out, immediately lifting Quentin from Marissa's arms. "He's looking good. Putting on more weight, isn't he?"

"He's nearly up to six pounds," the young mother replied proudly. "I made plenty of bottles, too, and they're all in the diaper bag," she explained as the elderly gentleman relieved her of the luggage she was carrying as well.

"Merry Christmas," he wished over his shoulder as he made his way up the stairs to the room the kids would be sleeping in. "You're staying for a while, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I can't," she answered. "Bailey and I have plans. He's waiting for me in the car."

"Well, he can come in, too," Elizabeth insisted. "We were hoping you'd spend some time with us this evening. We miss you, dear."

"And I miss you, too," the younger woman returned, hating herself for becoming slightly emotional, "but I would feel weird being here. Besides," she added, unable to keep a hint of resentment out of her voice, "it sounds as if you have a full house tonight."

"Yes, that's Andrew's new fiancé, Toni, and her kids…well four out of five of them."

"My oldest is in the military," the hardened woman imposed upon their conversation. Holding her left hand out for Marissa to shake, she introduced herself. "Toni Morelli."

Glancing down, Marissa noticed the ring on the older woman's hand and had to catch herself from losing her footing. Only once she had regained her bearings and stifled an incredulous laugh could she respond. "Marissa….Marissa Cooper." Andrew had apparently proposed to his new fiancé with her engagement ring that she had given back to him after he asked for a divorce.

"And this must be Rowan," Toni continued, bending down to speak to the frightened little girl. "Do you want to come with me to see your Dad?"

"Rowy scarwed."

"I didn't get that. What did she say?"

"She said she's scared," Marissa answered, annoyed that the woman was so inept that she could not understand the language of a two year old. "Thanks for the offer, Toni, but I haven't said goodbye to her yet. If you could give us a moment of privacy…."

"Of course," her ex's new fiancé agreed, stepping away from the front door and going back into the recesses of the house.

"I'm sorry about that," Elizabeth apologized profusely. "It shouldn't be like this; none of this should be happening!"

"It's alright," Marissa dismissed her distress, bending down to talk with her daughter. "Rowy, Mommy has to leave now. Will you be a good girl for Gamma and Papa?"

"Mommy," the two year old begged, tears in her eyes, "don' go."

"I have to, honey, but I'll see you tomorrow morning, and you, me, Quentin, and Bailey will open up your presents from Santa together. Won't that be fun?" Her daughter merely shook her head no. "Baby, you love coming to Gamma's, and I bet she has cookies for you."

"You have cookies, too," the little girl pointed out.

"Not as good as Gamma's."

"Come on, honey," Elizabeth spoke up, lifting her granddaughter into her arms, "come with Grandma and I'll show you the train Grandpa set up around the tree for you to play with."

"Mama," Rowan started to cry as soon as her hand was separated from that of her Mother's, and hearing her daughter's sobs and the word 'Mama' from her puckered lips, something she only said when she was really upset, brought tears of frustration and pain to Marissa's eyes as well, but there was nothing she could do.

"Mommy loves you, baby," she said softly, blowing the little girl a kiss as the door shut quietly in her face. The last thing she saw was her former mother-in-law's apologetic eyes, and the last thing she heard as she stepped away from the house to go back to her car were her daughter's frantic wails as she screamed for her over and over again. This was exactly why she had been wary of a divorce.

"Mom," Bailey asked, "would you tell me a story about my Dad?"

They were curled up together on the couch in her apartment. Despite being given as much time as she needed to move out of the house if she chose to do so, Marissa had rushed through the packing, and she and her children were already comfortably under the studio's roof once again. Just as they had planned, she and Bailey had spent the evening watching movies and eating sweets, and, despite being upset about not having Rowan and Quentin with her, she had enjoyed the one on one interaction she had shared with her oldest child. They had watched his movie first, the perennial classic, Miracle on 34th Street, and were watching her selection, Love Actually, when the little boy voiced his request. Pausing the DVD player, she turned to face him.

"Of course, honey," Marissa readily agreed. "Is there anything in particular that you want to know?"

"Did you ever spend a Christmas with him?"

"I did," she admitted, her mind instantly transporting her back to one of her favorite memories with Ryan. "Would you like me to tell you about it?" The ten year old simply nodded, pulled the blanket they were sharing up under his chin, and settled into the crook of her arm as he waited for her to delve eleven years into her past. "We had to celebrate early, because I was going to spend the holidays with your Aunt Caitlyn, but neither of us minded as long as we got to see each other," she revealed. "Because your Dad had made Thanksgiving dinner for us, I was in charge of our Christmas meal, so, of course, we had pizza and ice cream sundaes."

"That sounds yummy," Bailey spoke up, interrupting her story. "Do you think Aunt Caitlyn will let us have that tomorrow?"

"I have my ways of convincing her to do things," Marissa smiled smugly, making her son laugh. "Anyway, so we were at my apartment in Seattle, remember I told you that's where I used to live, and, after eating, we opened gifts. Apparently, your Dad thought he was pretty cute when he picked mine out. You see, I have this bad habit of either forgetting to pack important things or packing too much, so, as a joke, he bought me a luggage set for Christmas."

"Oh, that reminds me," the ten year old interrupted her, "did you remember to pack Rowan's Christmas tights, the ones with the snowmen on them?"

"Crap! I forgot!"

Bailey dissolved into a fit of giggles. "I guess my Dad knew you pretty well. You still can't pack."

Rolling her eyes, Marissa started grumbling under her breath, ruffling her son's hair before continuing. "Your Dad did know me really well, but the worst thing was that, even after he bought me the suitcases, he still wouldn't trust me to pack my own bags. He insisted upon either being there or on the phone with me when I prepared to go out of town until…."

"Until something happened and you moved away," Bailey finished for her, the sadness evident in his voice. Together, they sat in silence while they thought about the man who, unknowingly, had changed both of their lives so much. "Maybe I should help you pack now, be more like my Dad," the little boy suggested hopefully.

"You already are like your Daddy, sweetie," Marissa responded, pulling her son into a hug and dropping a kiss on top of his long, sandy blonde hair. "You're so much like him."

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up once again. "Do you think I'll ever get to wish him Merry Christmas someday?"

"I do," she answered him honestly. "In fact, I think you'll be able to even sooner than you think."

Neither of them said another thing, the young man contemplating his Mother's words while she envisioned what it would be like to spend a holiday season with both her children and the man she had left almost eleven years before. Pressing play, the movie started again, but neither Cooper was interested in watching the romantic comedy. Instead, their own complicated drama kept replaying itself in their heads. Christmas was a time for family and friends, for celebrating life and enjoying those you love, but that year, for Marissa and Bailey, it was also bringing change, and, as the New Year approached, their lives would suddenly become complicated, messy, and tangled up with insecurities and doubts, but it would also be blessed with a second chance for love and a second chance for a family. In what order those chances occurred though was still yet to be decided.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Caitlyn Ross was not meddling…she wasn't! She was simply a concerned sister who not only loved Marissa, but she was also her friend, and friends want each other to be happy, to have a healthy relationship with a significant other of their choice, – as long as she approved of him or her – and to smile once in a while. Smiling, now there was a thought. She hadn't seen a real, bright, effortless smile light up her big sister's face in weeks, perhaps months. Sure, she went through the motions, smirking when she said something snarky, grinning at her children when they spoke to her, pretending to laugh when someone told a joke or made a wisecrack, but the expression never reached her eyes, never made them crinkle in amusement or twinkle in mirth, never sent that intense blue light crashing through them.

So, when she walked into Marissa's studio and caught her beaming to herself, a smile so wide, so real, so flawless she had to stop and simply watch her sister, to say she was surprised was quite the understatement. The older woman was stretching, dressed in her dance clothes with her long hair trapped back and away from her face in a tight French braid, totally oblivious to the rest of the world and lost somewhere between reality and fantasy that Caitlyn couldn't quite pinpoint. Her gaze was dreamy, whimsical, light and airy, as if all the cares and burdens that had been weighing her down for the past two months were gone, and, despite her own silent promises to leave everything as it was, to let the chips fall as they may, to finally not interfere where she didn't belong, that instinct in her forced Caitlyn to wonder what….or more like whom had made her sister look so….happy, and when Caitlyn Cooper Ross wanted something, chances were very good she would get it.

"You know, I've been thinking," the younger woman mockingly mused as she stepped further into the studio, letting the door shut loudly behind her, "and you really should consider offering stripper-cize classes. Not only would they tone the left-over love handles my two sons gave me, but they'd also probably sculpt Jackson's libido into what it was when we were first married."

"Let's skip the banter and the wit and the sarcasm," Marissa suggested, continuing to stretch, "and why don't you tell me what you're really doing here, what you really want."

"Boo! You're no fun."

Observing her sister's pout, the blonde haired sibling rolled her eyes. "And this coming from the woman who feels up farm animals all day. Interesting."

"Fine," Caitlyn relented, "but I don't want anything. Is it a crime for a girl to simply want to see and talk to her favorite sister, to check in on her?"

"You mean check up on her," Marissa corrected with an all-knowing look. "Seriously though, Caity, I'm fine – better than fine, I'm doing pretty good. You know, the divorce is underway, so I don't have to worry about that headache anymore."

"When you say headache, are you referring to the separation or your marriage itself?"

Ignoring the younger woman's comments, Marissa continued. "It's just me and my three kids, living here again, I'm back to dancing and teaching full time, and I feel healthy, stress-free."

"That's all well and good," the feisty, auburn haired spitfire announced, "but there's more to it than that." Putting her hand to her chin, she thought for a moment, quietly observing her sister. "You look….you look as if you met a man."

"Please, Caity…."

"That's it," Caitlyn exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger towards her sibling. "You little slut! Who is he?"

"Please, I'm so busy between the kids and my lessons that I'm lucky if I get to take a hot shower everyday to wash my hair and relax for five minutes. My idea of going out on the town is taking the kids to _Chucky Cheese _or going to the doctor's for either mine or Quentin's check up. A night with a man consists of me and Bailey curled up on the couch together eating peanut butter from the jar and watching old episodes of _Match Game_. I'm about as far away from dating material as you can get."

"That sounds believable, convincing, and I almost buy it," the young woman conceded, "but there's something going on here. I haven't seen you this…content in years, not since…."

"Don't go there!" Marissa's voice was threatening, final. Backing away from her sister, she held up a warning finger. "I know what you're going to say, because we've already had this discussion too many times in the past to count, so let's save ourselves the argument and just agree to disagree."

"I can't do that, because the glow on your face right now is classic Marissa Cooper happiness circa the Ryan Atwood era, and, before you clam up and stop talking to me," Caitlyn calmly sat down on the studio's floor, pacifying her sister, "let me say one thing. It's a sight I've recently discovered that I miss."

"What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying that perhaps you've been right all along, that perhaps you know yourself better than I do, go figure on that one, and that perhaps you picked the right guy for you all those years ago."

Surprised and slightly baffled by her sister's admission, Marissa took a seat next to her on the cool surface of the hardwood floors, their shoulders brushing together, their backs resting comfortably against the floor to ceiling mirrors behind them. "I'm going to need more than that to go on."

Taking a deep breath, the auburn haired woman explained. "I never approved of your relationship with him. I thought that Ryan was wrong for you, that he would hurt you, but maybe my real problem with him was that he was wrong for me. When you were with him, you didn't need me anymore. He became your best friend, your confident, your everything, and I wasn't ready to give you up yet. You were all I had. So, what did I do? I talked you into keeping your son from his father, to follow me to Atlanta when I got a job here, and I introduced to someone who could easily be nominated for the worst husband in the world all so I could selfishly keep you close to me. Sure, Ryan had his faults, hell, he had a lot of them, but, unlike Andrew, the man I chose for you, he at least loved you with everything he had. Well, you don't have to worry any more, because I've learned my lesson; Caitlyn Ross has interfered for the last time. Your life is your own to live. I'm just going to sit back, drink a bloody Mary, and let you do what or whomever you want."

"Caitlyn, I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen to me closely," the older woman instructed, turning her sister's head to lock their gazes. "Ryan and I messed up our relationship. Yes, you didn't approve of it, but, if it was meant to be then, no one, not even you, could have stood in our way. The simple truth is that we were just not ready to make it work together. As for me keeping Bailey a secret, that was my decision. Sure, you expressed your opinion, offered me a way out by giving me a place to hide, but I made the choice to keep Ryan's son from him, and that's my fault and my fault alone. And, yes, you introduced me to Andrew, but you didn't accept his marriage proposal from me. I've made mistakes in my life, but that's just it; they're my mistakes, and I have to own up to them. If I could change some things, yeah, I would, but I can't. All I can do is move on, and that's what I'm doing."

"But what if you get a second chance?"

Not following her thought process and confused, Marissa asked, "what do you mean?"

"With Ryan," the younger sibling pointed out. "What if seeing him again is a sign, an omen telling you that he's just not your past; he could be your future as well. You can deny it all you want, but, when I walked in here, you were thinking about him. You said he was relocating. What if he moves here?"

"He is."

"See, exactly, this is fate, Marissa. He's coming back to you." Realizing what the blonde woman admitted, Caitlyn stopped, her jaw dropped open, and she sputtered for a few seconds before forming another coherent thought. "Wait a minute; back up there, Thomas the Train."

Teasing, Marissa quipped, "I think you've been spending too much time with the boys."

"This is me ignoring you," the younger woman declared, waving her sister's comment away. "How do you know he's moving to Atlanta? Are the two of you talking? Did you exchange numbers? Are you seeing him, meeting up to have secret rendezvous?"

"He's not the Leon to my Emma; there's nothing enigmatic about it."

"Except the fact that you have this hush-hush love child together that he has no clue about," Caitlyn pointed out helpfully, earning a glare from the woman beside her.

"And no," Marissa continued as if she hadn't heard her siblings remark, "we haven't exchanged numbers, and we're not talking. Rowan and I simply ran into him at the mall a few days before Christmas. It was no big deal, nothing illicit about it, a purely innocent, accidental meeting of two people who just so happen to have a past."

"And a love child."

"Would you quit saying that," the older woman exploded, poking her sister painfully in the ribs.

"I will if you tell me what happened between the two of you at the mall."

"Nothing happened," Marissa defended. "I was on the phone with Dr. Brighton, and he helped me with Rowan while I spoke with him. Then, as he carried her to the car for me, we talked. He told me that he got the job at the paper, and I told him about my divorce."

With an all knowing smirk, Caitlyn mused, "I see."

Exasperated, the older woman, with a tone dripping in acid, queried, "you see what?"

"How you conveniently worked into the conversation that you're a single woman again." Complimenting her sister, she wiggled her eyebrows. "That was very forward of you, and, all I have to say about is, it's about damn time."

"I'm not going after Ryan," Marissa insisted. "We simply ran into each other, and it would have been rude to ignore him. Plus, he's Bailey's father. It'll be better for everyone involved if the two of us can get along after…."

"After what," the younger woman questioned. "After you tell the truth and introduce Bailey to his Dad?"

Flustered, the blonde answered, "I guess….probably….yes." Taking a deep breath, she pressed. "I have to do it. It's time. Hell, I should have done it years ago, but he's here now, Ryan is; he's in Atlanta, and Bailey really wants to meet his Dad. I owe him this, I owe Ryan…."

"You owe this to yourself." The older woman nodded in agreement with her sister's statement. "The question is though," Caitlyn pointed out, "what else do you owe yourself?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you owe yourself a second chance at love? Do you owe yourself a second chance to be with Ryan, to raise your son with him, to maybe even have another child with him, experience what you missed the first time, with the man you've been in love with for years?"

Unable to remain sitting, Marissa stood up and began pacing the length of the studio in a distracted manner. "That's crazy. Ryan and I," she motioned between herself and the empty space in front of her as if he was standing there, "we're over; we've been over for years. I've moved on. I married someone else, carried another man's children, got divorced, and, even if, and this is not an admission, I did still have feelings for him, there's no way Ryan would ever be able to forgive me for keeping Bailey from him; there's no way he could still have feelings for me."

"You know, you're right," Caitlyn agreed, standing up and preparing to leave. Her voice was contrite, complacent, and completely insincere. "A man who ends his marriage and then, afterwards, moves back to the city he shared with his former lover could not possible still have feelings for her. The man who lived for years in the apartment he shared with that same woman could never still want to be with her. The man who looks at you like you're the most beautiful woman in the world, like you hung the moon and the stars and still had time left over to smile in his direction is, by no means, still head over heals in love with you, right?"

Frozen in place, tears glistening in her eyes, Marissa stared at her sister in disbelief. "Ry…Ryan lived in **our** apartment in Seattle?

Instead of answering her question, the auburn haired woman simply redirected the conversation. "Looks like the two of you have more to talk about besides the fact that you share a son. Go and find him, Marissa, confront him with the truth, tell him how you feel, do what you want for yourself for the first time in years instead of what other people want for you."

With a short laugh and a quick swipe at her face to wipe away the falling tears, the older sister taunted, "and this is you not meddling in my life?"

With an unapologetic shrug of her shoulders, Caitlyn opened the door and walked out, calling her last words over her shoulder. "You can thank me later."

This was crazy, unreasonable, impetuous, and completely insane, and that's exactly why Marissa knew the plan would work; it was something Caitlyn herself would pull. Putting on her best Southern belle smile and fluttering her lashes, she approached the receptionist desk and said a silent prayer of thanks that the person behind the counter was male. It was going to make her task at hand that much simpler.

Hesitantly, as if he suspected something, the man asked, "can I help you?"

"I sure hope so," Marissa drawled out, using her years of living in Georgia to emulate a Southern accent. "It's real important that I talk to Ryan Atwood. This is where he works, right?"

"Yes."

"Oh, thank goodness," she clutched her chest in a distracted manner, dropping her eyes and taking a deep breath. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that. Could you show me to his office, please? It's really urgent that I…."

"I'm sure it is, Ma'am," the receptionist interrupted her, "but I'm afraid there are a few problems."

"Such as?"

"Well, to start with, you don't have an appointment to see Mr. Atwood. No appointment, no meeting."

Conjuring up a few fake tears, Marissa pressed, "but it's life or death, Mr. …."

"It's Mr. Marshall, and, since we're answering each others questions now, perhaps you'd like to tell me whose existence is hanging in the balance?"

"Our poor Mama's," she answered, pulling out a pressed handkerchief to dab her watering eyes. "She's sick, dying in the hospital, and her last wish is to see my big brother, Ryan. So, you see, you have to help me find him."

"Have you tried his place?"

The man's response was ambiguous, not even telling Marissa if Ryan was living in a hotel or had already found an apartment. It wasn't going well. "He wasn't home," she answered. Before he could ask another question, she continued. "And he's not answering his cell either. This was my last hope of finding him."

"That's funny," the receptionist mused, tilting back his desk chair, "because the Atwood I know never turns his phone off."

"Perhaps he's somewhere that doesn't get good reception."

"In Atlanta," the man quizzed her, raising his eyebrows in disagreement. "I highly doubt it." Laughing, he leaned back in his chair, reclining with his hands behind his head. "Besides, I happen to know for a fact that Atwood doesn't have a sister, so why don't you tell me who you really are and what you really want."

Instantly, Marissa's fake tears stopped. Glaring at the man in front of her, she tossed her handkerchief at him. "Fine, if you want me to embarrass myself, I will. Ryan picked me up at a sports bar last week. We went back to my place, he spent the night, and I haven't heard from him since, and, if it's alright with you, I'd like to confront the bastard about why he never called me back and why the number he gave me for his cell phone is out of service."

"Honey, it's called a one night stand," the man smirked at her, grinning widely. "He obviously doesn't want to talk to you or see you again. As for me, I'm just glad that Atwood got himself some. Word around the office has been that he pretty much lives as a hermit. It's good to see the guy does occasionally have a little fun."

"Really," she questioned him, forgetting that she was supposed to be mad with both him and Ryan. "He's single, doesn't really date, a hermit?" She didn't know why she found the idea so appealing, and there was no time to analyze it. Unfortunately, her sentimental interest sparked the man's disbelief again.

"Who are you really," he asked her. "You still haven't told me your name, and I don't believe that you had a one night stand with Atwood."

Grasping for straws, Marissa replied, "I'm a strip-o-gram…for his birthday. So, if you could just steer me in the direction of his office, I'll let you get back to work and I can do my job."

"Not that I doubt you'd make one fine stripper," the man agreed, staring at her strangely when she laughed at his comment, "but you're no more a stripper than I am. Besides, it's not Atwood's birthday."

"What are you," she snapped, "his stalker? How do you know all this personal information about Ryan?"

"I work with him, I consider him a friend, and I just updated his personal records today." Standing up, he leaned over the desk and watched her closely. "How do you know Ryan, and, like I asked you before, what do you want, and what is your name?"

"Ryan and I….we have a past," she revealed, challenging his gaze with a harsh one of her own, "and I need to see him. Like I said before, it's important."

"No," the receptionist taunted, "you said it was life and death, which was a lie, so why should I believe you now?"

"Look, just tell Ryan that I'm here. He'll want to see me."

"Impossible," the man replied, sitting back down. "First of all, who would I tell him was here to see him, and, secondly, he's not even here, so you've not only wasted your own time, but you've wasted mine, too."

Smacking the desk in frustration, Marissa whirled around to face the elevator doors. Running a shaking hand through her long, blonde locks, she sighed roughly, willed her discouraged tears away, and, before she realized what she was doing, started talking to herself. "Way to go, Marissa. Now what are you going to do?"

"Wait a minute," the receptionist spoke up. "What did you just say?"

"I wasn't talking to you," she snapped, not even bothering to turn back around to face the man behind her, but he ignored her aggravation and spoke up again.

"No, what did you just call yourself; did you say Marissa?" The slight hint of recognition in his voice made her turn around. "Marissa Cooper?"

Hesitantly, she shook her head. "Yes, well, at least I once was a long time ago. Why does my name matter?"

"It matters because this office has strict instructions to go to Ryan if your name is ever brought up in any story, no matter how minor. It matters because he has you listed as an emergency contact. It matters because when that man says your name, it's obvious you mean something to him. Give me a minute, and I'll give you his address." As she chuckled at the situation, smiling in sheer confusion and joy that, despite her own best efforts that were anything but, she still got his address, the man, Mr. Marshall, looked up at her and rolled his eyes. "You know, this would have been a whole hell of a lot easier if you would have just been honest with me in the first place, but I guess it's not surprising when I think about it. You're just like him, guarded, locked away inside of yourself, a silent fortress not letting others in. You're perfect for each other."

Taking the address that was written down on the piece of paper from the receptionist in front of her, Marissa smiled in appreciation and tipped her head towards him in thanks. "Maybe once upon a time we were," she conceded, addressing the man's comments, "but now, after everything that's happened between us, I'm just hoping he doesn't have the doorman toss me out when I show up knocking at his place. Wish me luck."

With one more quiet burst of laughter directed at herself, she turned and walked away, slipping effortlessly into the elevator that would carry her back downstairs to the main lobby, to the taxi that was waiting out front for whenever she needed him, and to the man and the conversation she had physically and emotionally avoided for almost eleven years. This was something that not even one of Caitlyn's crazy plans could help her with.

The hotel was simple and modest, clean yet practical; it was like Ryan, and that made Marissa comfortable there. With Andrew, it had always been private inns and five star hotels, the crème de la crème, and she had never felt comfortable in them, always an outsider. She knew that the paper would offer to pay for any place of Ryan's choice, so she found the fact that their tastes were still so similar, still on the same wave length, to be reassuring. It was just another reminder that, despite years of not seeing each other, of not talking to each other, they were still alike and similar in temperament. That thought boosted her confidence enough to knock on his hotel room door, to stand back a pace to wait for him to open it, to start breathing again.

How did one do this, walk back into their ex's life and simply announce that almost eleven years ago they had conceived a child together, that ten years ago she had given birth to their son, that, months after she had seen him again after such a long time, she had finally realized that she should tell the truth? How did she apologize for such an unthinkable mistake? How did she tell him about ten years worth of stories, insights, and memories that dealt with their son? How did she express how much their little boy wanted to know his father, that it was not his choice to be separated from him? How did she give Ryan the world in one hand and take away her own with the other?

Telling him the truth was going to change everything. There was no going back from this moment, no fixing the mistakes she had made in the past, no future to protect. As soon as she shared her secret with her former lover, the special bond they had shared would disappear; Marissa knew that, but that didn't mean she wanted it to happen. Seeing him all those weeks ago outside of the NICU made her realize just how much she had missed her blue eyed, blonde haired prince, just how much she had loved him all those years ago, just how much she still cared for him, but, as soon as his hotel door opened, as soon as she told him the truth, as soon as she ruined the perfect image of her that he held in his heart, she would lose him forever, and that thought was the second most frightening thing she had ever faced; the scariest was not telling him though, and that thought was the very thing that made her tilt her chin up in defiance, in assurance, in confidence, made her steel her eyes into blue orbs of obdurate iron, cold enough to kill her own hopes, and firmed her lips into a tight line of rigidity that would force her to say nothing but the speech she had prepared in her ten minute cab ride across town.

Unfortunately, every ounce of resolution she had formed disappeared into the scentless, professional air of the hotel passageway as soon as her gaze locked with that of the man before her, as soon as she saw the utter joy and surprise that shocked through his facial features upon realizing she was waiting for him outside of his doorway, as soon as she saw that crooked, side smile he offered no one but her. One look at Ryan Atwood and Marissa, as always, was gone. It was just like the moment he spoke to her on the plane, just like the moment they had shared at the hospital, just like the moment she had first held their son and his fathers eyes had looked back up at her, haunting her, reminding her, comforting her all in one glance, their blue light crashing through them.

"Marissa,…what are you doing here," Ryan choked out in a shocked breath. Unbidden, a larger, more ecstatic smile replaced the small, shy one he had been offering her before. "Wait," he stopped himself, ruffling his strong, tanned, utterly masculine hand through his unruly mess of dirty blonde hair. "Come in."

He held the door open for her, but, instead of moving towards him, accepting his invitation, Marissa took another step backwards, further distancing herself from the man before her. "I can't stay long."

"That's okay, I understand," he immediately agreed with her. "It's late, you have your kids, and you need to get home to them, but you can still come in, sit for minute, can't you?"

"No."

"Oh," Ryan sighed, disappointed, "okay." When she said nothing else, made no move to either leave or stay, he asked, "is something wrong?"

"No." Her answer was instantaneous, but the tears that followed and filled her crystal clear, sapphire eyes belied the lack of sincerity in her response. Lowering her gaze to stare at her ballet flat encased feet, she whispered an honest reply, "yes," her voice so low, so desperate Ryan could barely hear it.

"What is it," he asked, concerned. Before she realized what was happening, he was standing in front of her, the door to his hotel room left open as the soft strains from the television assaulted the eerily quiet hallway, and reaching up to gently cup her quivering face in his reassuring hand, his fingers immediately sweeping delicately across her jaw, calming her, soothing her, lulling her into a false sense of security and hope. "I know it's been a long time since we….since we were together," he explained, "and a lot has changed, but, Marissa, you have to know that I would do anything, anything," he stressed, lifting her face to meet his gaze, "to help you or your children." Leaning his forehead against hers, he pressed. "Tell me; trust me enough to tell me what's wrong. I'm here, Marissa. I'm not going anywhere. Let me help you, honey."

She opened her mouth to tell him, to share her deep, dark, dangerous secret, but no words came out. Instead, she simply stared back at him, her fear and distress bringing more hot, stinging tears to her eyes. Before she could stop them, they started to fall, and Ryan's fingers were there to catch them, to cradle them, to cherish them. He was being too sweet, too kind, too loving, and it made her eyes flutter closed as she savored one last moment of feeling his care for her shroud her in a protective aura of peace.

"I…I have to tell you something." Hiccupping, she stopped to take a deep breath. "I need…"

"I need you," he whispered, interrupting her confession. His words look the air out of her lungs, made her eyes snap open in shock, and, as soon as their gazes locked together, once again, he leaned in, brushed his lips against hers, and deepened the kiss as soon as her sigh of contentment, of luxuriated bliss slipped forth between her parted lips, lips parted to further his embrace. For one glorious moment, Marissa disappeared into him, lost herself and her worries in the man she had loved for so long, but, as she stared into his eyes, an identical pair of cobalt irises assaulted her heart, her son's, Bailey's, their little boy's, and, abruptly, she pulled away from him, let out a wretched, pain filled sob, and fled down the hallway towards the elevator before Ryan could even realize she was leaving him. Again.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

If there was one thing Caitlyn Ross hated it was being woke up in the dead of sleep, dragged out of her warm, comfortable bed by the annoying sound of her doorbell ringing, and forced to make polite conversation when all she really wanted to do was count sheep. Normally, she would make her husband get out of bed, but he was away on a flight to South Africa, and J.J. was still a few years shy of fulfilling the role of man of the house. Grumbling under her breath, the young mother threatened, "I swear to god, if you are a freaking Jehovah Witness, I'm going to shove your damn bible so far up your ass, it'll come back up as secular rhetoric!" Throwing her front door open, she exclaimed, "well, well, I guess it's not an overzealous religious freak; instead, it's the antichrist."

"It's good to see you, too, Caitlyn," Ryan replied sarcastically, nodding his head in silent self-reproach.

"I'd say the same, Atwood, but then I'd be lying." Pulling her thin robe closed, she ushered for him to enter the house. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need your help."

"Clearly, but what I don't get is why it couldn't wait until tomorrow. Was it really necessary to drag me out of bed at," she glanced down at her watch, "2:47 in the morning."

"Something happened," he admitted, "with Marissa."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," she taunted him. "Sit," Caitlyn ordered, motioning towards the living room. "I'm going into the kitchen to make some coffee; I need some caffeine to wake my tired ass up, and, by the looks of you, it could be a long night. Organize your thoughts, I'll be back."

Five minutes, a pot of coffee, and two steaming cups of instant energy later, the very mismatched pair were sitting across from each other, their defenses up, their expressions guarded, their minds both on the blonde they had in common.

"Alright, give it to me straight. What did you do to my sister now?"

"Why do you automatically assume that it was me who did something to her," Ryan asked, annoyed by the tone the younger woman used with him. Her pointed, all knowing, accusing look made him swallow his words though, bow his head in defeat, and color slightly. "Fine," he admitted, "it probably was my fault, but I didn't mean to hurt her."

"You never do, Ryan, but that hasn't stopped you from breaking her heart in the past."

"This isn't eleven years ago, Caitlyn. I've changed since then, Marissa's changed since then…"

"You're right, my sister has changed since then," the auburn haired woman agreed. "She's a Mom now, so, if you hurt her, you're also going to hurt her children, intentionally or not. Now, quit beating around the bush and just tell me what happened. The last time I saw my sister, it seemed as if things were good between the two of you, like you were getting along and perhaps on your way to becoming friends again."

"We are….were," he conceded, sighing roughly while running his hands through his hair. "But then she came to see me tonight…"

"Wait a minute," Caitlyn interrupted him. "She came to see you….tonight?"

"That's what I said. Are you hard of hearing?"

"Shut up," she directed him, snapping her fingers to emphasize her point. "Who was with the kids, because they sure as hell weren't here?"

"I don't know. Maybe their father had them," Ryan suggested, not noticing the woman across from him roll her eyes at his comment, "but that's not important. She said she had something to tell me, something important, but I wouldn't listen to her."

"Go figure," the young mother whispered under her breath before letting him continue.

"Instead, I wanted to tell her something before she said anything. The last time we were….together, she always said everything important first, and I want things to be different this time."

"Different how exactly," Caitlyn questioned him. "Please do not tell me that you pressured her into having a relationship with you." As he looked away in concurrence, she jumped out of her seat and started pacing across the room. "Jesus Christ, Atwood, what the hell were you thinking. Eleven years after the mess the two of you called a relationship happened, you show up here in Atlanta right as my sister's life gets insanely complicated. Not only was she unsure at the time whether or not her son would survive, but she was also starting divorce proceedings. A few, short meetings later, all of which were anything but private and overly personal, you think it's a good idea to hit her with a confession of what….love and then try to convince her that she should give you a second chance? I've never heard of anything as obtuse and tactless as that!"

"Well, I had to do something before you decided it was time for a little classic Caitlyn Cooper meddling!"

"Don't yell at me in my own home when you came here for my help," the red head exploded, pointing an angry finger into his chest. "As for my interference in my sister's life, I've learned my lesson, okay? I'm going to offer my opinion, solicited or not, give advice when she asks for it, but, other than that, I'm going to stay out of her private life. No more manipulating the circumstances or using them to my advantage. I realize that all my help has really led her to even more heartache, and, despite you being an ass, you were still better for her than Andrew." Taking a deep breath, she sat back down on the couch and tried to compose her frayed temper. "And, for your information, it's Caitlyn Ross now, but you can call me Ma'am or My Esteemed Love Counselor."

"Go to hell!"

"Only on your coattails, Atwood."

In frustration, he stood up and made his way towards the foyer and the front door. "You know what, it was a mistake coming here. You're obviously not going to help me, so why don't I save you the breath of telling me off for the umpteenth time and myself the migraine and just leave now."

"Park it, lover boy," she ordered. "I'll play nice," Caitlyn promised, crossing her right index finger over her heart. "Despite what I think about you, my misguided sister obviously still feels something for you, and, though I had hoped it would be apathy or, better yet, dislike, it's more than that, and, ultimately, I want to see her happy. Besides that, I guess I owe you."

"I know you never approved of me before, but why is it that you think you owe me?"

"That's for my sister to explain and for me to deny at a later date," the younger woman confessed, "but for now we need to figure out what exactly you did wrong tonight, what you're doing with my sister, and how you're going to fix it."

"I told her that I would do anything to do help her or her children, that I needed her, and then I kissed her."

"Did she kiss you back?"

"Yes, but what does that matter?"

"It doesn't. I was just curious." Rolling her eyes at his annoyed expression, she went on. "Did anything else happen?"

"No. She kissed me back for a few seconds, and then she ran."

"Why didn't you tell her how you feel," Caitlyn inquired, "and, for that matter, what exactly do you feel for my sister?"

"I love her. I think I have since the moment I first looked into her eyes all those years ago on that plane."

"Yeah, yeah, that's all well and good, disgustingly mushy and romantic, but it's not just you and her anymore, Ryan," she pointed out. "She's a Mom now, so where do those three kids figure into this equation you have in your head that equals you and my sister together again, this time in an actual functioning relationship?"

"They just make me love her even more," he admitted. "I've seen her with Rowan, and that little girl is the cutest thing in the world besides her Mother."

"Even cuter than me," Caitlyn teased, laughing at the frown that instantly covered his face. Snorting at his expression, she ordered, "go on, keep talking."

"Marissa's an amazing mother, and, although I haven't met all of her children, I know they're just as special as Rowan is. Plus, they're a part of her, so of course I'm going to love them. No questions asked, if she will let me be a part of their lives, I want to raise those three children with her, and, perhaps, add another one or two to our family."

"So, since I'm a part of my sister, does that mean that you automatically love me, too?"

"You're a pain in my ass, Caitlyn," Ryan answered, "and no connection to Marissa is going to change that. I'm making nice with you right now simply because I need your help. After tonight, you and I both know this semi-truce we have going on right now is going to be called off, and it'll be back to battle as usual."

"Damn straight," she agreed with him. "Now that we have that clear, I have three questions for you. You said you love her, but are you IN love with her?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to be with her?"

Yes."

"Is there anything that could make you turn away from my sister, that could make you stop loving her?"

"Nothing that I can imagine," he confessed with a small smile. "Marissa, she's it for me; she's the woman I am meant to be with, the woman I wish I would have met when I was a teenager so I could have married her twenty one years ago instead of Theresa."

Standing up, Caitlyn motioned for him to follow her back towards the entrance. Opening the door, she stopped him from leaving by speaking. "Then go to her, tell her everything that you told me, and be patient with her. I know you think that this is something that should be simple, that you want to sweep her off of her feet, but my sister's scared, and there's more going on underneath the surface than what you're aware of. Listen to her, do not judge, and remember those three questions and those answers you gave me, because you're going to need that resolve to get past what's waiting for you and achieve the future you want."

"Thank you…for helping me. I know I'm not your favorite person…."

"But you love her, and, even if she won't admit it to me with words, I know that she loves you, too, and, ultimately, I want my sister happy. For some odd reason, you seem to be the one man who can give her that. Now, get out of here. She's at her studio in town; that's where she and the kids are living now. And Ryan," she paused, waiting for him to turn back around to look at her, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry….for everything."

"Me, too, Caitlyn," he sympathized, acknowledging her apology with an appreciative nod of his head and one of his own, "me, too."

"Four in the morning, Caitlyn," Marissa whined under her breath, punctuating her complaints with loud, staccato stomps down the hard wood steps of her studio. "Four freaking o'clock in the morning, you've got to be kidding me! What did I do to deserve this in my past life: steal a handbag from a nun, run over small children with my tricycle, lick all the filling out of a package of Oreos and then sell them to a blind man?" Wrapping her slender hand around the doorknob, her eyes still partially closed due to sleep, she threw the door open and yelled, "what," startling the person standing in front of her.

"Now I know where your sister gets her people skills," Ryan teased, laughing softly at the frazzled blonde in front of him after he regained his composure. "If you two ever see an advertisement for an etiquette class, I'd recommend signing up for it. First, she opens the door threatening to violently accost a bible thumper, and then, just now, I could hear you talking to yourself the whole way down the stairs. Aren't you afraid you'll wake up the kids?"

"Slow down," she ordered him, leaning against the doorjamb and taking a deep breath. "I'm a little out of it still, and you're talking way too damn fast." Without realizing it, her actions caused her long, navy, satin robe to fall open, revealing an equally rich but much shorter nightgown of the same material and color, a sight that Ryan's thirsty eyes drank in appreciatively. "In my sister's defense, before we get to everything else you just mentioned, bible thumpers are annoying. I'd take them out, too. As for me, what were you expecting in the middle of the night, tea and crumpets? You know how I get when someone wakes me up too early."

Smirking widely, he grinned at her, his gaze playful and wicked. "Yes, I do."

"So, you should have been prepared for my rambling, a little incomprehensible gibberish, and a swear word or two."

"What I remember about waking you up too early in the morning is how your eyes would be all cloudy and dark with dreams, a deep indigo I could willingly lose myself in." Taking a step closer to her, Ryan let his hand brush against her forearm, hoping she wouldn't pull away from his touch. She didn't. "What I remember is the way your perfectly kissable lips would pout slightly from irritation and disapproval. You thought you looked angry, but the only emotions those pouts used to scream to me were attraction and arousal." Again, he moved closer towards her, sliding his hand up her arm to eventually let it rest against the underside of her jaw, his thumb soothing a gentle pattern along her chin. "What I remember is how your hair would always appear tousled, like you had been well loved the night before, and I always imagined what it would really look like if we did get to spend a night together and then wake up in each others arms the next morning."

"Don't do this, Ryan," she begged, edging away from him. Her words were pleading, the volume low and strained as if she were fighting an inner battle. "You can't come here and say those things to me, not now, not after everything that's happened between us, not after what I did."

"You're right," he agreed with her, letting his hand drop to his side. "There are more important things that we have to say."

Agreeing with him, she shook her head, but the action also seemed to clear her mind of the haze it had been under, helping her to focus. "You said you went to see Caitlyn. Why?"

"I needed her help. I needed someone to listen to me about you, to give me advice, to make it clear to me exactly what I wanted. I needed someone to bounce my ideas and feelings off of."

"And did it help," Marissa asked curiously. "I mean, my sister's not exactly unbiased or even passive enough to sit by and let you work things out on your own. She'd probably try to tell you how you should feel and then make it sound so rational, you'd believe her."

"Actually, after you put aside our squabbling and slight digs at each other, talking to her made me realize four very important things." He waited for her to ask about his self-revelations, but, when she merely stood there, silent, watching him, he cleared his throat, took a step into the studio, and shut the door behind him. Turning back around, his gaze locked with that of the woman standing in front of him. If he was going to tell her how he felt, he needed her to not only hear his sincerity but see it as well. There had been too much miscommunication between them, too many misunderstandings, too many missed opportunities. "For one, I realized that your children need a father, and I don't mean one in name but a man who will be there to help get them ready for school in the mornings, a man who will drop off their forgotten lunches on his way to work, go to parent-teacher meetings, coach their t-ball team, a man who will read them the same bedtime story every night, over and over again, simply because it was their favorite, but I don't want just any man to fill this role with your three children; I want it to be me. I want the horrifying experience of having to tell your son Bailey about the birds and the bees in a few years time, I want to follow Rowan on her first, her fifth, and her fiftieth date, I want to be there for Quentin's first day of school, taking his picture and holding you cry when you as the school bus pulls away from the driveway, and I want to be there when you have your fourth child, at its conception, its first sonogram, and the moment its born. I want all of this, because those children, the ones you have already and the ones you'll have in the future, are a part of you which means they're already a part of me, too."

"Stop, Ryan, please stop," she choked out, furiously attempting to wipe away the tears that were so readily, so easily, so uncontrollably falling from her pained eyes. "You don't know what you're saying…or who you're saying it to. I'm not the woman I once was, the woman you fell in love with eleven years ago. I've done so many things I'm not proud of…"

"Haven't we all," he interrupted her, moving to dry her tears, but she pushed his hands away. Accepting the fact that she needed physical distance between them, he let her move away from him before speaking again. "Don't you get it," he asked, his words dripping with a desperation he hadn't felt in years, not since she walked away from him. "I don't care what you've done; nothing could change how I feel about you."

"And what's that, Ryan?"

"I'm in love with you," he shouted, unable to keep a smile off his face. "I've been in love with you since the moment you confessed you weren't wearing any underwear on a transcontinental flight, and I will be in love with you for the rest of my life. I promise you that there is nothing you could do or say that would ever make me stop loving you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"What," he questioned her, suddenly worried, "what is wrong? Why don't you believe me when I say that I want to be with you, that I'll always want to be with you?"

"I do believe you," she reassured him, unable to push him away completely like she knew she should, "but that only makes it worse, because I'm standing here, looking into your eyes, and I can see how much you mean what you say, but it's all going to be destroyed in a matter of seconds when I tell you what I have to say." Choking on a sob, she finally broke down and would have collapsed onto the floor if Ryan wouldn't have caught her around the waist, bringing her shuddering body in to rest against his protective, stronger frame. "Don't do this, Ryan," she asked of him, her words pushing him away while the arms she wrapped around his waist begged him to remain close. "Don't let me hurt you anymore than I'm already going to."

"Baby," he soothed, "you could never hurt me, not intentionally."

"I did," Marissa confessed. "I will."

"No, I want you to listen to me." Dropping his hands away from her body, he moved them so that her back was resting up against the wall and he was pressed intimately against her trembling body. Cupping her face, he looked deeply into her haunted expression, connecting them in that moment. "I know I don't deserve a second chance, that it's perfectly understandable that you think I'll hurt you again, and that I have no right to be here begging you to take me back, to let me into your family, but I'm not that man you were with eleven years ago. You said you've changed, but so have I."

"Please," she whimpered, her voice broken and ragged. It was her last defense, and it was shattering quickly. "You don't know what you're doing…."

"I know exactly what I'm doing," he contradicted her. "I'm finally going after what….who I want for the first time in my life. I'm not afraid any more," Ryan confessed, letting his lips brush delicately against hers, only backing away to whisper one last vow. "I'm not afraid of falling in love with you."

They were the words she had been waiting to hear for eleven years, and they clenched her heart, shattering her resolve into a million pieces. After all, he was there, standing in front of her, promising to love her and her children forever, asking her to be the mother of his future children, beseeching her to give him the second chance she had been wanting to give him since the day she pushed him away. It was everything she wanted at exactly the worst possible time in her life, but, no matter what her mind told her, no matter what her brain commanded her to do, no matter what her conscience dictated, Marissa couldn't pull away from him….not again. So, listening to her heart and obeying the desires of her body, she gave in, returning his embraces with the fervor and passion that had built up within her throughout the years they had been separated, and, as soon as his hands slid beneath her robe, letting the silken material fall gracefully to the floor, to caress her soft skin, the consequences of her actions disappeared and the only thing left was the sensations coursing through her body, making her tremble and sob and pray for him to, once again, become one with her.

Their mouths coupled until neither could survive another moment without air, and, when they pulled apart, Marissa took the opportunity to escape the confines his arms around her created, moving away from him and the wall she had been leaning against. Silently, without further ado, she tenderly hooked her index finger around his in a soft entreaty for him to follow her, but, hesitating slightly, because he was unsure of what was happening, Ryan held back.

"I….wha….what are we doing?"

"Ssh," she commanded, sliding the digits of her left hand across his moist lips. "I want you to make love to me." She watched as he swallowed thickly in eager anticipation, his eyes sparkling with a level of passion and devotion she had never seen before, not even during the night they had spent together eleven years before, and, in that moment, nothing else needed to be said between them.

Leading him into her office, Marissa shut the door behind them, leaving the light turned off and allowing the room to be illuminated only by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. It cast a glimmer over everything it touched, shadowing the rest of the world from their inner sanctuary but highlighting the feelings flowing through them and into each other. Once the door was closed, the two made their way towards the couch, Ryan sitting first before pulling her down to rest upon his lap. Her supple body was clad only in her thin nightgown, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

At first their actions were tentative, the gentlest of caresses as they both let their hands re-explore the others body, the daintiest of kisses as their palates slowly joined together to form one delicious, dizzying taste of their combined essence, the shyest steps to further their mutual seductions as his hands made their underneath her gown while hers leisurely unbuttoned his shirt. Eventually though, their desire overtook them, their embraces became more powerful, and their clothing disappeared, leaving the reunited lovers entangled in each others arms, their glistening, tremulous limbs wrapped around each other to the point where it was impossible to discern where one began and the other ended.

Their lovemaking was mutual, complimentary, a shared expression of everything they had ever felt for one another and everything they both believed they could be as a couple. Movements slow and sensual, their bodies stretched out across the cool leather of the couch, they held each other while the crescendo of their desire reached its culmination. When she exhaled, he breathed in her gasps of desperate desire; when he convulsed with the strength of his release, she cradled his pleasantly exhausted body in her arms, inspiring him to want more, encouraging him to need more, begging him to ask for more. And, finally, when neither could hold on for another moment, when their passion finally reached its pinnacle, Marissa lifted her head off the couch to recapture his mouth in hers, sipping from his lips and tasting the frantic intensity of his feelings.

"I love you, too," she finally whispered, pulling away from him just slightly so their gazes could lock together once again, blue on blue, the fire they shared for one another surging between them as they succumbed to the humming tremors and pulsating vibrations that propelled their pleasured bodies over the abyss and into a sea of contentment, exhilaration, and beauty only their could inspire within each other. After eleven years, Ryan and Marissa finally went back home.

The morning was quickly approaching, a morning that would bring reality tumbling down upon them, a morning that would usher in cereal bowls and orange juice, pigtails and blue sparkle toothpaste, responsibilities and commitments, but all Marissa wanted to do was bury her face deeper into Ryan's bare chest and stay hidden away from the rest of the world for as long as she could in the private oasis they had created together in her office. She wanted to lounge on the leather couch all day, interrupting their rest only to make love again and again. She wanted to remain bare and unclothed, simply enjoying the tickling sensations the fine hair on Ryan's legs caused on her own. She wanted to watch him breathe, trace the definition of every single one of his muscles, lay back and let him kiss every freckle he could find on her body no matter how intimate the embraces might be. However, she knew they were on a runaway train headed on a downhill track with no brakes or means of stopping, and that left them with one option: crashing.

She should have listened to her instincts, fought against her heart, and demanded that Ryan heed her warnings that he would not be able to love her once she revealed the truth, but, because she hadn't, because she had opened her life back up to the man who had hurt her so badly in the past, she was exposed and in danger of destroying not only her own life but the lives of her children as well. He was a part of her again, so she would never be able to look him in the eye and perpetuate the lie by omission she had been living since the moment she had pushed him out of her world. No matter what, she would tell him the truth; she would risk her own happiness to make right the mistake that would eventually devastate her if not corrected. Unfortunately, by giving Ryan the son he deserved and Bailey the father he had always dreamed of, she would be depriving herself of the one thing she had dreamed of since a little girl: someone's unconditional love.

Closing her eyes, Marissa stemmed the tears that were threatening to spill down her still blushed and glowing face. She was determined not to cry and, instead, was resigned to enjoying every last second she still had with Ryan while it lasted. It was rather ironic though, their relationship. It had taken years for him to realize he was no longer afraid of falling in love with her, but, by the time he confessed that his fear was gone, she was being controlled by her own anxiety. While she had never been afraid of falling in love with him, she was afraid he would not be there to catch her once the truth was revealed, and that fear was something she could not deny any longer.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Ryan didn't know what woke him up so suddenly; normally, he was a heavy sleeper, needing a persistent alarm clock and a very loud, very obnoxious morning radio DJ to wake him up, but, in Marissa's house, he was aware of every creek, every noise, every telltale sign that there was movement about. Glancing down at the woman wrapped around his body, he saw that she was sound asleep, peacefully resting against him while one hand curled against his heart and other held him close. Thinking silently to himself, he realized that she was comfortable with their surroundings, that the knowledge of three young children sleeping above them didn't bother her, because she had been a mother for so many years. However, Ryan was acutely aware of her impressionable children. The thought of them walking into the office and seeing him in a lover's embrace with their mother made him shutter; the thought of having to explain why neither adult was wearing any clothes made him blanch and wince in potential embarrassment. Sure, someday he wanted to be a parent, and when that day arrived, he would embrace every aspect of that responsibility…including having the sex talk with his son or his daughter, but he was in no way prepared to have that discussion with one of Marissa's children that morning, especially not in his current state of undress and partial arousal.

So, with his senses working overtime, he listened for even the faintest sound of a child's movement, unable to go back to sleep. Luckily, it wasn't a terrible predicament to be in: awake with Marissa in his arms. While she slept, he was free to watch her as blatantly as he wanted to, free to let his eyes caress every delectable inch of her exposed body as he memorized her all over again, free to drink in her scent, let his fingers whisper through her thick, golden hair, and dance delicate kisses across her smooth, creamy brow. It also made him realize that it would be nearly impossible for him to ever let her go again.

Sighing in contentment, he went to brush her hair off of her shoulder, for he wanted to count every freckle on the gentle curve, but, before his hands could reach their destination, two very distinct and different sounds alerted him to the fact that they soon would not be alone: tired feet plopping down the hard wood of the stairs and disgruntled mumbles under a little boy's breath. Gently, he lifted Marissa in his arms, stood up, and then repositioned her on the couch, draping a soft, warm chenille blanket across her vulnerable form, before quickly and efficiently getting dressed. Running a hand through his wild, unrestrained hair hoping his efforts would help alleviate the child's suspicions, Ryan opened the door and, just as soundlessly, closed it behind him as he stepped into the outer recesses of the dance studio, effectively hiding Marissa and the evidence of their night together from prying eyes.

Expecting to find a little boy of perhaps five or six years of age, he was shocked to see that the child standing in front of him was, instead, practically a young man, and the surprises didn't stop there. Apparently, Bailey, Marissa's oldest child, looked nothing like his younger two siblings. His hair was light with sun drenched highlights, and, just like Ryan's own hair, it stood practically on end, riotous and spiked from a night of tossing and turning in bed. The boy's eyes were blue, not the deep, mysterious, intense sapphire blue he loved so much in his mother's eyes, but the crisp, harsh, unrelenting cobalt of the morning sky or the angry sea just before a storm rolled through the Pacific Ocean. Even the set of his face, sharp nose, square, rough jaw, strong chin, contrasted with that of his sister and brother. However, what stunned Ryan the most was the look of dazed recognition which flashed across the child's face as soon as their gazes met.

Finally, the young man standing across from him broke the silence. His voice was hesitant, restrained, almost fearful of the answer he was seeking. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so," Ryan answered, smiling at the child in the hopes of reassuring him. "We've never met, but, perhaps, you know of me. I'm an old friend of your Mom's."

"Where is my Mom?"

"She's sleeping," the older man said easily, attempting to move them both towards the stairs which would take them further away from the naked, sleeping woman in the room he had just left.

"No, she's not," Bailey argued, shaking his head and refusing to move. "She's not in her room. I checked."

"Oh, yeah, right," Ryan nodded in agreement. "She fell asleep in her office last night." When the child moved towards the closed doorway, he stood in his path and continued to talk. "Why don't you let her sleep for a little bit longer? She's exhausted."

"I can't. Rowan will be awake soon, and she'll need her breakfast. Plus, Quentin's going to need fed as well. I would help her out and make Rowy a bowl of cereal, but we're out of milk, and I'm not allowed to use the stove, so I can't cook anything."

"Well then, you're in luck, because, not only can I cook, but I'm a better cook than your Mom," he joked, trying, in vain, to make the little boy laugh. "In fact, I was the one who taught your Mom how to cook. Come on," he waved for Bailey to follow him up the stairs, "we'll have eggs, toast, and I'll even make some bacon if your Mom has any in the freezer."

Silently, obediently, the child followed the older man up the stairs and into the kitchen, claiming a barstool at the counter for his seat while, in quiet contemplation, he watched as Ryan moved expertly around the kitchen, finding the ingredients, preparing the pans, and starting to cook the food, but Ryan welcomed the stillness; he needed it to think. It was obvious that Marissa's son was older than he thought, but how old was the little boy? His height made Ryan guess that Bailey was either seven or eight, but his behavior, his apparent maturity, the calm intelligence he displayed when he spoke made him seem older. Then, the boy's older age also made him question Marissa's relationship with her soon-to-be ex husband. How long were they together before and after they were married, were all three of her children his or had she had a child with another man, and, if so, who was that other man? He had been jealous of the fact that someone else had been with his Marissa, but the thought of her being close enough with two men to have their children made his blood boil with envy and anger, anger towards Theresa for lying to him for all those years, anger towards Marissa for not waiting for him to realize he not only wanted to be with her but needed her in his life, and, most of all, anger towards himself for being afraid of truly falling in love with someone and completely giving himself to that person.

Snapping him out of his reflective thoughts, Bailey asked a question, his voice carrying notes of suspicion, doubt, and, for some reason, nerves. "How do you know my Mom?"

"We met years ago….before you were born," Ryan clarified, "while we were both traveling." There was no need to go into the details of their cross-continental flight. Those were things only Marissa had the right to share with her son. "We started talking and became friends. Whenever I went to Seattle, I would stay with her; we would…hang out."

"And why are you here, now, so early in the morning when my Mom's still asleep?"

"Actually, I stopped by last night after she put you and your siblings to bed," he explained, feeling as if he was on the hot chair and being cross examined by the child sitting across from him. The red tint to his cheeks had nothing to do with the heat from the stove's burners. "I just relocated to Atlanta, and, when I heard that she lived here, I wanted to see her right away."

His answers were not the responses Bailey wanted to hear, as evidenced by the frown upon the child's face. "But why are you still here if you came by last night?"

"Your Mom and I were up late…catching up with each other, and she just insisted that I stay here to sleep instead of driving back to the city where my hotel room is." Anticipating the boy's next question, he continued. "She fell asleep in her office while we were talking, so she just stayed in there."

Still not satisfied, the young man continued his inquisition. "And where did you sleep?"

"Baiwee," the soft strains of Rowan's voice filtered into the kitchen from the hallway, saving Ryan from answering. "Who is you talking to? Rowy hearded your voices while I was sweeping." Before her brother could respond, she stepped into the room, trailing a cabbage patch doll behind her and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Mr. Itwood," she screamed, dropping her toy and launching herself at Ryan. As soon as her little hands latched onto his legs, he lifted her into his arms, holding her to him tightly while he moved back to the stove to turn the burners down so the bacon didn't get too crispy.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he greeted her, dropping a sloppy kiss onto her brow. "How have you been lately? Are you hungry?"

"Rowy's dood," she answered, smiling up at him before tightly wrapping her tiny little arms around his neck. "How is you, Mr. Itwood?"

"I'm great," he returned, bouncing her up and down, "now that my best girl is here."

"Wait a minute," Bailey interrupted them, a look of confusion clouding his young face. "You two know each other?"

Rowan's only answer was "duh," before she giggled.

"Yeah, buddy," Ryan turned towards the befuddled child, "we've met a few times now, but, every time we saw each other, you weren't with your Mom."

"But you said you were new in town, that you came here last night to catch up with my Mom?"

"I did," the older man confirmed. "You see, when I saw your Mom before, they were quick talks, because either she or I had to be someplace else, and, after not seeing each other for almost eleven years, there was a lot we had to talk about."

The little boy's confusion quickly turned into surprise. "Did you say eleven years?"

"Yeah, why," Ryan wondered, putting Rowan down on the countertop beside the stove. Turning to the little girl, he teased, "I think your brother might need his ears cleaned out." She laughed, but Bailey simply ignored the lighthearted joke.

"Your name's really Mr. Itwood," the little boy asked.

"Actually, no," the older man responded with a chuckle. "For some reason, that's what your sister calls me. I've tried to get her to call me by my first name or even to say my last name correctly, but she seems to like Itwood. It's really Atwood though, in case you were curious."

"What is your first name," Bailey wondered. Gone was his surprise; faint hope had replaced it.

"It's…."

"Wait," Rowan's high pitched voice shrieked, stopping Ryan in his tracks, interrupting his answer, and stalling his movements. "You can't throw the egg shells away," she told him pointedly. "We save dem for the punkins."

Awed and slightly breathless, the older man asked, "you grow pumpkins?"

"Yeah," the two and half year old replied, "just like the punkin boy who became a prince did. He gave Mommy some of his magic seeds once."

"Okay then," Ryan agreed, smiling widely, "we'll save the shells for the pumpkin patch." Even though he hadn't physically been a part of Marissa and her children's life, by Rowan sharing with him that they all grew pumpkins and that there was a story about a little boy who raised the plants, he knew he had at least been on her mind for the past eleven years and that her children knew of him in the form of a cherished bedtime story. Clearing away the emotion that had lodged itself in his throat, he glanced back at Bailey who was watching him closely. "My first name is Ryan."

Recognition surged into the little boy's eyes in the form of tears. "And you write about sports?"

"How did you know that?"

"Because, when I was a little boy, I found this article in a sports magazine by a man named Ryan Atwood. I thought it was cool, because we shared the same name."

Suddenly, Ryan wanted to hear Bailey's story more than he wanted to take his next breath. "What do you mean you shared the same name," he asked the child. "What's your full name?"

However, instead of answering the older man's questions, the little boy continued with his tale. "When I showed the man's article to my Mom, there was a picture beside the name. I looked like the man in the picture, the man I shared the name with, and you," Bailey pointed towards Ryan, "you look like the man in the picture, too, just slightly older. You see," he pressed on, letting his small tears flow freely, his voice even and calm, "the man in that picture, Ryan Atwood, he was my father, mine, Bailey Ryan Atwood Cooper's father, and, now, here you are, Ryan Atwood, a sports writer and a man who looks like the only picture of my Dad I've ever seen, standing in my kitchen, talking to me, making my little sister and I breakfast."

Before Ryan could respond, another voice was there filling the deafening silence that had taken over the room. Even Rowan was quiet, sitting perfectly straight on the counter, hands poised in her lap while a puzzled expression crossed her cherubic face. "Bailey, I need you to do Mommy a favor. Can you get your sister down off the counter and dish out some breakfast for the two of you. I need to talk to Ryan…alone."

"But, Mom," the little boy went to protest before he was cut off.

"Please, baby, please do this for me. As soon as I can, I'll come back and get you so we can talk, so you can meet your Father, but, before that, I need to talk to him alone, to explain a few things."

A small nod of his head, one almost imperceptible, told Marissa he had agreed to her request. Turning towards Ryan, she motioned for him to follow her. Silently, he did, and, as they moved out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and into her bedroom, he knew what she was about to say would forever change his life, their connection, and everyone's future.

She took a seat in a rocking chair and let the thin strap of her nightgown fall to expose an aching breast full of milk to her hungry son. As she fed the infant, Ryan simply watched her, in awe of the beautiful bond she shared with her youngest child, envious that Quentin was not his child with her, and wondering what it would be like to share the connection of a child with the woman he loved until, suddenly, he realized he could have had that all with her if only she would have told him about the son they had created together, the ten year old young man he had just met.

Pacing the room, he trained his unwavering glare upon her. It was filled with resentment, hurt, and misery. "Why?"

"By the time I found out I was pregnant, you were back in Chino with Theresa. You're not the only one who can do research and look a person up," she continued, a slight note of pain entering her voice. "I did some checking, and I learned that you were giving your marriage another shot, that the two of you were really trying to have a child together. Even if you wouldn't have been, I was still too hurt, too angry with you to call you up and let you know you were going to be father with a woman who was not your wife, a woman you walked away from."

"So what," he wondered out loud, "you decided that keeping my son from me was a fitting punishment for me hurting you?"

"No, it wasn't like that," Marissa argued, letting her first tear fall discreetly down her pale face. "I needed time to process what had happened between us, to let go of some of my anger and come to terms with the fact that I was going to be single mother."

"But you wouldn't have been," Ryan interrupted her. "I wanted to be with you, I wanted the mother of my children to be you, but I was just too scared to realize that. If I would have known you were pregnant…."

"You said the important word there," she pointed out, "if. If a lot of things would have been different, we wouldn't be having this discussion now. Anyway," she continued, shaking her head to clear her mind and to get back to the reasons behind her secret, "by the time things started to make some sense for me, Caitlyn was graduating from college, so I went to Ohio to be with her. When she found out about the pregnancy…."

"I should have known," he lashed out angrily, slamming his fist into the wall. "It's always your damn sister! From the moment she met me, she's hated me, never thinking I was good enough for you, but to do this, to convince you to keep my child from me, I didn't think that her hate for me ran that deeply."

"Don't," Marissa threatened, pulling her son away from her breast to burp him. Vehemently, she pressed, "do not blame this on Caitlyn. "Yes, she expressed her wishes that I move with her to Atlanta when she got the job offer down here, and, yes, she didn't want me to tell you about the baby, but I was an adult. I wasn't some wet behind the ears kid that she led around by a leash, a puppet she controlled the strings to. She simply presented her argument, I listened to it, but, in the end, I was the one who made the decision to never tell you about our son."

"That still doesn't tell me why you did it."

"To be honest, I don't even know why anymore," she confessed. "At first, I was simply giving myself time to heal, time to lick my wounds. Then it became about the baby. I knew stress would be unhealthy for my pregnancy, and being in contact with you definitely would have been nerve-racking for me, so I told myself I'd call and let you know after I gave birth. Once Bailey was born, my paranoia set in. While I knew in my heart that you would never take our son away from me, my head wouldn't listen to reason, and I feared that you would swoop in with Theresa by you side, this instant family for our son, and take him away from me, let her raise him as her own. At that point, he was my whole world. I couldn't lose him."

"So," Ryan realized, watching her as she cradled her infant son against her breast so he could, once again, drink from her, "because you were afraid I'd take him away from you, you decided to not even tell me we had a son together and, in the process, doing to me the very thing you were afraid I'd do to you. Can you say hypocrisy?"

"You're not saying or calling me anything I haven't already said about myself a thousand times," she admitted. "I know there is no excuse for what I've done, nothing that will make the pain you're feeling right now go away or even relent. All I can say is that I'm sorry, Ryan; I'm sorrier than I'll ever be able to express, and I want you to be a part of his life now, that is, if you want to get to know him."

"Of course I want to know my son," he snapped, turning away from her and running a shaking hand through his messy hair. After taking several cleansing breaths, he turned back towards her. "Were you ever going to tell me? God, Marissa, we had sex last night, and, the whole time, you knew you were keeping this from me."

"No," she whispered vehemently, shaking her head in denial and stifling a sob at the same time, "we made love."

"Yeah, I thought it was love, too," Ryan ground out in frustration. "I know that what I felt was love, but I'm not too sure about you. How can you claim to love someone and keep their child from them?"

"Felt," she repeated what he said, "as in the fact that you loved me, past tense?"

"Damn it, Marissa," he yelled, causing her to jump and Quentin to squirm against her restlessly, "don't you think you've been selfish long enough. This is not about you or me; this is about Bailey. Can't you put aside what you want for five minutes so we can figure out what's best for him?"

"Don't you dare," she threatened, standing up and moving towards him, "question my ability as a mother. Yes, I made a huge, terrible, unforgivable mistake by keeping our son from you, but that does not take away from the fact that I'm a good Mom, that my children are the most important things in my life, and that I would do anything for them. You've never been responsible for taking care of someone else before," she continued, crying the entire time she talked, "so you have no idea what it's like to be a parent."

"And whose fault is that?"

With that, he turned his back to her and walked out of the room without another word or a second glance. Holding in her sobs, she listened as his steps moved down the hallway, past the kitchen where their son sat waiting for them, down the stairs, and out her front door. As soon as he was gone, she crumbled to the floor, her body heaving with tears. Her crying was so powerful, so consuming, she frightened her infant son and made him cry as well. Desperate, she crawled across the floor, Quentin still in her arms, and reached up onto her nightstand to pick up the cordless phone she kept there. With her entire world falling apart around her, once again, there was only one person she could call.

When the person on the other line picked up, Marissa was barely capable of speaking, for her throat so constricted in pain. "He's gone," she finally managed to whisper. "I told him everything, and, now, he's gone."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Caitlyn promised through the line and hung up before anything else could be said.

Fifteen minutes later when there was a knock on her door, Marissa was too upset to think rationally. If she had been able to, however, she would have remembered that her sister was never one to observe simple social graces such as knocking to announcing her presence at someone's house. With twin rivers of tears cascading down her pale, withdrawn face, body and hands shaking from abject misery, fear, and emotional pain, and breath catching in desperate pants, she opened the door, immediately crying even harder and speaking without even looking up.

"I lost him," Marissa lamented. She was barely capable of holding herself upright, and her son, wailing in her arms, was scared and frantic for reassurance. Behind her stood two equally frightened children, Rowan silently crying and Bailey trying to check his emotions and be strong for both his Mom and his younger siblings by biting his lip and holding his little sister's hand. "He figured out Bailey was his son, we talked, we fought, and then he just walked away." Hiccupping, she continued, repeating her greatest fear. "I lost him….again."

"To lose me again," Ryan stated, taking Quentin from her shaking arms and soothing his tears, "you would have had to lose me before, and you never have. We might not have been together, but I never stopped loving you." Lacing the fingers of his left hand with those of her right, he pulled her further into the studio, closing the door behind him. "And you never will. I'm not going anywhere, Marissa, not now and not ever."

With that, he smiled down at the two children standing before them, tilting his head towards the stairs. Wordlessly, they both moved towards the steps, drying their eyes as they went up to the second floor. Ryan, Marissa, and Quentin silently followed behind them. Whatever came next in their lives, they were going to face together, all five of them.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

When Caitlyn arrived at Marissa's studio twenty minutes after Ryan returned, what she found was a confused household consumed with bitterness, anger, and pain, and each person, no matter how young they were, was haunted by something. Bred from her instinct to always watch out for her sister, the younger sibling noticed that the woman she looked up to, the woman who had so selfishly raised her when their parents no longer could appeared as if her heart had been ripped apart, smashed, and then hesitantly put back together albeit with essential pieces missing. With one look at the mother of three, Caitlyn knew she was doubting not only herself but her ability to care for her children, that she was regretting something that, no matter how much she wished she could take back and change, she never could. In the past, she had always been able to hold Marissa together; after all, that was what sisters did for each other, but, as she silently watched from the shadows so no one would know that she was there, she knew this was one thing she couldn't save her sister from.

Ryan looked no better. In fact, if Caitlyn was objective, which in this situation she wasn't, she would have to admit that he might have looked even more distressed. Why he was there and what made him come back, she had no idea, but what she did know was that she was grateful that he did return, not only for Bailey and Marissa's sake but for her sister's younger two children as well. Losing Ryan again, perhaps forever, had the potential to destroy her older sibling, and that destruction was something she feared Marissa's family would never recover from. Sighing, she looked closer at his face, for once trying to put aside her instinct to disregard his feelings and focus on her sister's, and what she saw was a man who was mad at the whole world, a man who was questioning everything he believed in, but, most of all, a man who was furious with and distrustful of himself.

Next, she let her eyes drift to her oldest nephew. His little face normally so warm and generous, kind and trusting, strong and self-assured was, instead, a mask of confusion, uncertainty, and hope, a contradiction in and of itself. It was obvious while there were many things he wanted to ask him Mom, the sheer joy of finally meeting the father he had been promised he would get a chance to know someday was outweighing his insecurity. Alternately, his wide, crystal clear blue eyes dashed back and forth between both Ryan and Marissa. She knew that he could sense the heavy, oppressive undertones assaulting the environment of the room, but he was too overjoyed with having both of his parents in the same place that he simply disregarded the animosity, misgivings, and ambiguity. Unfortunately, Caitlyn knew that he deserved more than that, that he deserved the chance to really enjoy the discovery of his father, and it appeared as if granting him that opportunity would be her responsibility, for his parents were in no shape to realize what was best for anyone, not even themselves. Looking at her niece and younger nephew, her decision to take care of Marissa and her family was only cemented. While Rowan was purely bewildered, Quentin could sense the uneasy emotions swirling around him, and the little boy was anything but calm and content.

Thanking her own lucky intuition and the rush she was in to find someone to watch her boys so she could help her sister, Caitlyn with her convenient, tossed by the back door, soundless flip-flops carefully made her way outside without anyone detecting her, made a phone call, and then, purposely, reentered the house making enough noise to announce her presence but not enough to alert anyone to the fact that she was trying to be conspicuous. "Hello, is anyone home," she called out, attempting to make her voice sound light and carefree. "You know, sister of mine, you really have the worst timing in the world. At the precise moment you called, I was in the middle of a very cool dream. Jackson and I, in the dream, had gone on a second honeymoon. Don't ask me where the hell we were, because I have no idea, but what was cool about it was who we were partying with." Moving up the stairs quickly, punctuating each step with a loud pounding that alerted those upstairs that she was running, Caitlyn continued to talk, knowing that, although no one was probably listening to her, the empty words were a comfort to her simply because of their normalcy. "In the middle of this insanely large dance floor, I was surrounded by Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe, but, let me tell you, he was paying more attention to me, Ricky Martin circa pre-gay vibe, Warren Harding, how random was that unconscious presidential choice, but, when you think about it, as far as partying goes, he's a pretty realistic partner in crime, pun intended, and that crazy, drunk neighbor from Empty Nest."

Just as she crested the top of the stairs, rounding her way into the living room, she was met with Ryan's disinterest, Bailey's oblivion, Rowan's relief that someone who was equally unaffected by the morning's events had arrived, and Marissa's wry, barely amused smirk. "I know that you're making this up as you go, Caity."

"So what," the younger sister excused her actions. "It was starting to feel like doomsday in here; someone had to lighten the mood, and, you've got to admit, if that was a real dream, it would have been pretty interesting, especially if and when the drinks started flowing. But, enough about me and my overactive imagination; I have some news." Before she could explain, a small bundle of energy launched themselves at her legs, begging to be picked up. "Hello to you, too, missy."

"Hi," Marissa's daughter returned the greeting, granting her aunt a small kiss on the cheek.

"And how are you?"

"Rowy don' know, Aunt Caity."

"That makes sense," the younger of the two mothers whispered under her breath, understanding her niece's response but not liking the fact that she was so unsure of herself or the situation she was in.

"Do you know Mr. Itwood," the little girl recaptured her aunt's attention, directing a chubby finger in her new friend's direction.

"It's Atwood," Bailey met his sister's gaze with a hard glare. "His name is Ryan Atwood, Rowan, like my name."

"It's okay," Ryan spoke for the first time, standing up and moving towards Caitlyn and taking her niece from her. Turning towards the child he had just learned was his son, he explained. "I know you're confused, Bailey, and that you have a lot of questions, but none of this is your sister's fault. I don't mind that she calls me Mr. Itwood. Really, it doesn't bother me." Moving to face the woman he had always seemed to fight with for as long as he had known her, he said, "Caitlyn, I know there's something you need to discuss with Marissa, but this isn't the best time." Leveling his gaze at her, he simply stated, "I know," as an explanation before pressing on. "We," he motioned towards himself, his former lover, and the son their relationship had created, "have a lot to discuss, and, frankly, it doesn't concern you."

"You're right," she surprised him by agreeing. "What happens between you, Marissa, and my nephew really isn't any of my business. I'm not here to interfere; what I am here for is to help. The three of you need to spend some time together, alone, and Rowan and Clydesdale need to be someplace where they'll feel safe and relaxed. So, I'm going to take them home with me for the weekend, and, while I have them, you and my sister are going to start fixing this for your son, because, let me tell you, from where I'm standing, the two of you just keep making a bad situation worse."

"It's not intentional," Marissa finally joined in the conversation from the couch. Still sitting with her youngest child in her arms, she tried to push back the tears which always seemed to be threatening to fall. "But I think you're right, Caity; I think Ryan and I need to spend some time alone with Bailey. This isn't going to be a healthy environment for Rowan and Quentin for a few days."

"Well that's obvious," the younger woman teased, rolling her eyes in jest, "because no one is going to be here to take care of them. You need to pack," she stated decisively, already making her way down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

"Wait a second," Ryan asked, confused, "pack for what?"

"Your flight to Seattle leaves in two hours. If you're going to explain your past to your son, you need to tell him everything and do it right. Retrace your steps, show him all the important places the two of you shared in your relationship," Caitlyn instructed, "and, when you're done, figure out what's next together, all three of you."

Her tone was final, her directions explicit, and neither Ryan nor Marissa had the energy or the confidence to argue with her. So, doing as they were told, everyone, Rowan included, went to help pack.

"I don't get it," Bailey exclaimed, completely exasperated. Looking between his two parents, his youthful eyes beseeched them to make sense of the story they had just shared with him, the story of his reason for being born. Just as Caitlyn had ordered, the three of them had set out for Seattle together, and, while on the plane, Marissa and Ryan had cooperatively worked together to try and explain their relationship to their son. Several gaps in the story later where they had silently communicated in agreement that he should not be privy to certain information, the ten year old still did not understand their reasoning for what they did. "Let me get this straight," he turned towards the father he had just met that morning, "you loved my Mom, made me with her, but you were married to someone else at the same time? Is that why you left? Did you love your wife more than us?"

"No, sweetie," Marissa answered the little boy's question instead of Ryan. Sighing, she scrubbed the lines of worry on her forehead before continuing. "Let me see if I can make you understand without making this too complicated." Taking a deep breath, she started. "As we told you, we never meant to develop feelings for each other. After the plane ride, we agreed that our relationship would simply be a friendship, but sometimes it's impossible to control your feelings. Plus, your Dad was unhappy in his marriage. He got married too young and for the wrong reasons, and, by the time we fell in love, he didn't feel that way for his wife any longer. As for why your father left, that was my fault. I wanted him to leave his wife for me, and, when she left him instead, I felt as if he had merely settled for me, so I pushed him away."

"It wasn't just your Mom's fault though, kid," Ryan added, bringing Bailey's attention back towards himself. "She was right to want me to leave my wife for her, because, like she said, I loved your Mom and not Theresa….my wife. I was just too scared to."

"Scared," the little boy questioned, eyeing the older man strangely. "Why would you be afraid of my Mom?"

"I wasn't scared of your Mom; I was scared of the way I felt about her, I was scared of hurting Theresa, and I was scared to finally do something on my own, to make my own decision."

When their son seemed to accept that answer, Marissa pressed on. "And then, when I found out I was pregnant, from that point on, it's my fault that you never met your Dad and that he didn't know about you. At first, I was too mad at him and hurt by what he had done to say anything, and, by the time the pain and anger started to diminish, I was too afraid of losing you to say anything, but I was wrong. Your Dad had a right to know you, just as you had a right to know him, and I'll always be sorry for hurting the both of you the way I did by keeping you apart."

"And if I wouldn't have settled for going back to my wife," Ryan added, glancing up to meet his ex's eyes before looking back down into his son's, "then maybe I would have gone after your Mom, really told her how I felt, and tried to fix things with her, and, who knows, maybe we would have been a family like we were supposed to be."

As they sat waiting to see Bailey's reaction, all three of them were silent. Finally, the child spoke up. "I guess I can understand a little bit, but I didn't know that adults could get so scared. I thought only kids did."

"Trust me," Ryan stated resolutely, shaking his head sadly, "adults can be just as afraid as children. We just get scared over different things, bigger things, and, instead of going to someone for help, we keep it all locked up inside of us and hurt those we care about."

"That makes sense." Nodding his head in comprehension, the ten year old reached under his feet and lifted up his small backpack. "Now that I know what happened between you, can we talk about something else?"

"Sure, baby," Marissa agreed readily, running her fingers through her son's sandy blonde locks, "anything you want. This trip is about you, about making you realize how much we love you and that you have two parents now." Locking her gaze with Ryan's, she expanded. "We'll do whatever you want."

"Cool," Bailey smiled up at her. "Anyway," he stated, unzipping his bag and pulling out a photo album. "Aunt Caitlyn said it might be a good idea if I brought some pictures along to show…." He turned towards his father, unsure about what he should call him.

"It's up to you," the older man shrugged. "Would I like you to call me Dad someday, of course I would, but I don't want to pressure you. Until you're ready to call me that, Ryan's fine."

"Okay," the little boy agreed. Glancing up at his Mother, he explained. "I thought I could show Ryan some of the pictures from when I was younger, and you could tell him about them. Is that okay, Mom?"

"I think that's a great idea, sweetie."

Pulling her son into her arms, Marissa gave him a tight, affectionate hug, letting her lips brush against his brow in a tender embrace. Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathed him in, savoring his closeness and thanking fate, luck, or whatever powers that be that her secret and lies had not ruined the relationship she shared with her oldest child. Upon opening her eyes, she found her ex watching her closely. Neither said a word. Instead, they simply shared a knowing look of awareness and consideration before turning back to the little boy sitting between them. After all, the trip was not about their bond or the issues they needed to confront and solve; it was about Bailey.

"How about I order us some dinner while the two of you freshen up," Ryan offered as they entered the double hotel room they would be sharing that evening. After landing that afternoon, they had taken Bailey on a general tour of their history in the city, saving the major moments, stories, and places for the next day. It had been decided that he would have a bed to himself while Marissa would share one with their son. As they took the elevator to their room, an uncomfortable quiet had descended upon the three of them, and he desperately wanted to do something to disrupt it. "Does anyone have any preferences? Bailey?"

"I don't really care," the little boy answered softly. Just looking at him it became apparent that the emotional day had been a draining one for him. Not only had he met his father, but he had also learned the entire history his parents shared, taken a trip across the country, and been carted around various landmarks in an unknown city.

"How about pizza," Marissa suggested, watching her son carefully. "I know we all like that."

"Sure," Ryan agreed when Bailey said nothing, nodding his head and going to use the hotel phone. As he turned his back upon them, he could hear her talking to their son, but he couldn't make out what she was saying.

"Are you feeling okay, sweetie," the always concerned mother queried, looking towards her son for reassurance that he was, at least, not in any physical pain.

"Yeah," the ten year old answered shortly. Looking up at his mother pleadingly, he asked, "can I use your phone though? I want to call Aunt Caitlyn."

"Why?"

"She told me to check in with her, so I could let her know how I was doing."

"Sure," Marissa responded, taking her cell out of her purse and handing it to her eldest child, "but don't stay on too long, because the pizza will be here soon, and I want to make sure you get enough to eat. You're looking a little pale to me."

"I'm fine, Mom," the little boy argued. Before she could say anything else, he disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Even though he couldn't see what she was doing, he knew that his Mother was pacing right outside the doorway, her constant apprehension making her nervous for and about him.

Quickly, he found his aunt's profile in the phone, dialed, and then waited for her to pick up.

"It's about damn time you called me," Caitlyn chastised him as soon as she answered, forgetting to even say hello and that she was speaking to a ten year old. "What took you so long? I've been worried."

"We just got to the hotel," Bailey laughed, settling down onto the floor of the bathroom to sit while he talked. "Calm down, Aunt Caity."

"I'm allowed to be emotional and worked up," she defended herself. "My favorite eldest nephew had a pretty big, exciting day today. I'm concerned about him."

"You're my favorite aunt, too," he teased, making the older woman chuckle. He could practically hear her eyes rolling as she silently mocked his taunting words. "How are Rowy and Quentin?"

"Your sister is driving me crazy," she confessed with a sigh. "She wants to play girly games like dress up and Barbies. I'm used to monster trucks and sumo wrestling with the boys."

"Welcome to my world," the little boy commiserated.

"But your little brother's been good. In fact, I just finished feeding little Friesian his bottle, and he's down for the night."

"Are you ever going to stop calling him by horses' breeds?"

"Um…," the older woman mused, "probably not. It annoys your Mother too much to stop. But, that's enough about everyone here. I'm more interested in hearing how your trip is going."

"It's been okay," Bailey physically shrugged his shoulders to match his tone of unresponsiveness. "They just want to talk about me and how I'm feeling."

"Well, that's what they're supposed to be doing," Caitlyn told him decisively. "That means they're being parents first and whatever they are to each other second."

"Yeah, but I don't want them to," the ten year old argued. "I thought that they'd talk about things, say they're sorry, and realize that they want to be together."

"Honey, it's more complicated than that."

"But it doesn't have to be," the little boy countered. "They love each other, so they should be together."

"Yes, I agree with you," Caitlyn reassured him. "Your parents do love each other, but your Mom kept you a secret from your Dad. It's going to take him a while to forgive her, if he ever does, and, even if he does eventually forgive her, he might not be able to be with her."

Thinking silently for a moment, Bailey asked, "so, are you telling me there's no hope?"

"Of course not."

"Okay then," his tone immediately became hopeful once again. "Then tell me this: if you were me and you wanted to get your parents back together, what would you do?"

"Oh no," she denied him. "I don't think so, Bailey. I'm not getting into the middle of this. I've interfered one too many times in my sister's life, and I have to stop before she takes her tap shoes and beats me to death. I'm not giving you any advice on how to set your Mom up with Ryan. You're going to have to come up with something on your own, because I want no part in this matchmaking endeavor."

"Please, Aunt Caitlyn, it's important to me. Everyone keeps saying that this trip is about me, but what I want is for my Mom and Dad to realize that they want to raise me, Rowan, and Quentin together, as a family, and, to do that, I need to get them to forgive each other."

"Bailey," Marissa interrupted his conversation with his aunt by knocking on the door, "the pizza's here. You need to hang up the phone so you can eat."

Hearing her sister, the younger Cooper sibling knew she had to make it quick, but she also wanted to help her nephew. "Alright, fine," she relented, speaking rapidly, "this is what you're going to do, but, remember, I'm never doing something like this for you again."

Engrossed, the ten year old listened closely. As soon as his aunt finished talking, he said a quick goodbye, hung up the phone, and moved closer to the still locked bathroom door.

"Rowy and Quentin are fine, Mom," he reassured Marissa.

"That's good, sweetie. Thank you for asking about your sister and brother, but are you coming out now?"

"No. I'm not coming out until you agree to do something for me," he threatened.

"Anything, buddy," Ryan instantly agreed, talking through the closed doorway. "Like your Mom and I told you, we'll do anything you need us to."

"That's good," Bailey stated, nodding his head though they couldn't see him, "because this is important to me. I want the two of you to share a bed tonight."

"Honey," Marissa argued, her voice betraying her uncertainty and hesitancy towards his request, "that's crazy. Why would you want…."

"It shouldn't matter why I want you to do it," he interrupted her. "It's want I want and what I think you two need to do. If you don't agree, then I'm not eating any dinner, and I'm going to stay in here all night."

Several tense minutes went by without anyone saying anything, but, eventually, he could hear someone walk away from the door as the other approached it closer. "Fine," Ryan sighed, leaning his head against the cool wood. "We'll do what you want, Bailey, but this doesn't mean anything."

"Yet," the ten year old whispered under his breath as he unlocked and opened the door. "It doesn't mean anything yet."

"I'm sorry about this," Marissa sighed as she, once again, shifted even farther away from Ryan. While their son slept on soundly in the bed beside them, his small body spread out across the entire surface, they were both situated so close to the edge that either of them could fall off the side with just the slightest nudge. "Don't worry though," she reassured him, "I'll speak to him tomorrow and let him know that he can't keep doing things like this."

"No," Ryan argued with her, "we'll both talk to him. After all," he pointed out, his voice without malice, "he is our son, but if this makes you too uncomfortable, I could sleep on the floor."

"Absolutely not," she quickly responded, turning to look at him while she spoke. "If he woke up to find you on the floor, I don't even want to think about his reaction. Plus," she added, softening her voice, "you shouldn't have to do that. This," she motioned between them and the space they shared, "isn't your fault."

He simply nodded his head to show agreement, and then they both fell silent. Slowly, the night continued to pass, but neither of the two adults could relax enough to fall asleep. Just as Ryan was about to suggest he take a walk through the hallways to calm himself down, Marissa spoke up.

"When Bailey was little, I wanted him to have a positive male influence in his life, and Jackson, Caitlyn's husband, was good enough to offer to spend time with him. So, on the weekends when he would get together with his flying buddies, he would take Bailey along with him to work on the airplanes. He taught him how to take care of the crafts, how to fly them, and about their history. Don't worry," she added with a small chuckle, "the lessons always took place on the ground. I wasn't crazy enough to let him take our little boy up in one of those rickety old planes. But, anyway," she got back to the story, "it was wonderful for him, for both of them. While Bailey got to spend time with adult men, it was good parenting practice for Jackson, but I never considered the bad habits Bailey might pick up from the guys. I'll never forget when he was three, and we were getting ready to go away. I was packing his bag with some toys for the car, and I could hear him moving around in the hallway between his room and the bathroom. Then, all of a sudden, his little blonde head peaked into my room, and he asked, completely serious, mind you, 'where in the fuck is my toothbrush?' It was clear and plain as day, and the little brat stood there as if he had just said something as simple and polite as 'I want a cookie.' I swear, I was so shocked, we just remained there, frozen, staring at each other for well over a minute, and, by the time I recovered enough to punish him, he was off again playing, and it was all I could do to hold in my laughter."

"What did you end up doing about it," Ryan asked, curious, turning on his side to face her as the space between them began to diminish.

"I yelled at Jackson so much, he was afraid to look at me cross eyed for six months," she revealed with a laugh as she turned to face him as well. Hands resting under her cheek, Marissa continued. "I threatened him with a bar of soap and a call to his grandmother and told him that, if Bailey ever swore again, I'd hold him personally responsible."

"And did he….ever swear again?"

"So far, so good," she answered with a small smile. "Our son is very well behaved, mature little boy, Ryan."

"I know," he agreed with her statement, "I can tell. You've done an amazing job with him."

With a whisper, she replied, "thank you."

"But I still think he needs his father, and one story about his childhood is not going to make up for missing ten years of his life."

"You're right," she concurred.

"I want to know everything about Bailey, about all three of your children," Ryan pressed.

"I want that, too." With a tired sigh, Marissa moved even closer to him, tentatively reaching across the bed to grasp his hand. Even though his body tensed upon the contact, he did not push her away. Slowly, her eyes started to close as the inevitable pull of sleep started to carry her away, but, before she could fully fall asleep, she spoke one last time. "You know," she confessed, still not opening her eyes, "they could be our kids," but, just as he went to respond, she was out, slumbering peacefully, and Ryan was left to think quietly by himself, too wired, too uncertain, and too insecure to give in to his exhaustion. Instead, he spent the entire night awake, holding Marissa's hand while she slept, as he deliberated over his thoughts, analyzed his feelings, and tried to make sense of the confusion his life had become in one day. Too bad the answers wouldn't come as easily as the questions did.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

They were home, the weekend was over, the trip down memory lane had ceased, and they were home to, once again, try to figure out what their future would entail. Would they be a family, all five of them, or would she remain a single mother, raising all three children on her own? Would Ryan stay in Atlanta long enough to form a strong bond with his son; would he want to be his father, or would ten years missed of Bailey's life be too much for him to get past? How would she explain Ryan's connection to Bailey so that her little girl would understand and not become confused? So far, her eldest son had seemed to accept his father's sudden presence in his life, but would there be a backlash of anger directed at her for keeping him from his Dad for so long? What would they do about custody? Could they come to a mutually beneficent arrangement for their son without hurting him or the other children in the process, or would Ryan insist that they go to court and fight it over with lawyers, a judge, and a hearing? Would her mistake have lasting, damaging effects, not only upon Bailey, but on all three of her children for that matter? If Andrew found out the truth about her eldest son's paternity, would he change his mind about their custody arrangement, and, if so, how would she survive without her children with her, living with her, loving her? So many questions but no answers, and, on top of everything else she was about to face, Marissa couldn't help but think about her relationship with her ex-lover.

Could he…would he ever forgive her for keeping him from his son, and, even if he did, would he ever be able to love her like he once had? She knew the feelings had not simply disappeared once he had learned the truth, but, just because you love someone, that does not necessarily mean that you like, respect, or want to be with them. It had taken her almost eleven years of hiding from the truth, a cross country move, becoming a mother three times, a failed, disastrous marriage, and one night in Ryan's arms again to realize that there would never be another man she could ever love as much as she loved him, but, even after her life altering realization, she still ran the risk of losing him forever. Yet, she couldn't focus upon her situation with Ryan; instead, her attention had to be solely focused upon taking care of her children and making sure that they all adjusted to the changes in their lives as seamlessly as possible.

She was so lost in thought that she never saw the speeding bullet otherwise known as her sister launching herself across the airport lounge and straight into her arms for what was meant to be a warm, inviting, supportive hug when, in all actuality, it only managed to make Marissa feel suffocated and slightly bruised. "I'm so glad you're home," the younger woman confessed, whispering in her ear.

"Whoa, relax," the blonde playfully ordered, finally managing to extricate herself from the vice like grip her sibling had on her. "I went away for less than 72 hours. What are you going to do if I ever move away?"

"You're moving," Caitlyn exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. "Damn, girl, you progress quickly. When I sent you away for the weekend I was hoping you'd be able to explain your complicated relationship with Ryan to your son, relive some good memories from your past, and find some clarity about the situation you currently find yourself in, but to come home and immediately announce that you're moving, don't you think, and, mind you, I can't believe I'm saying this to a woman who waited over a decade to reveal the truth about her son's paternity, but, don't you think that you're taking things a little too quickly. Why not give it a few weeks and see how things develop?"

"Breathe," Marissa commanded, "shut up for just one minute, and let me talk. I'm…we're," she motioned towards the two confused boys standing behind her, "not moving."

"You're not?"

"No, and, if you would learn to listen before you jumped to conclusions and shot your mouth off, you would have heard me say the world if, as in a conditional clause."

Still unsatisfied, the brunette pushed, "you're sure?"

"At least for the foreseeable future, I have no intentions of leaving Atlanta. I like the weather," she explained, smirking slightly, "my business is doing well, and why would I ever leave a place where convenient, free babysitting is only a phone call away."

"Glad to see where I rank on your list of real estate benefits," Caitlyn quipped, rolling her eyes at her sister's teasing. "I'll keep that in mind the next time I go shopping to by a present for you." As the two women fell silent, the younger of the two of them finally realized that she had a captivated if not bewildered audience in the shape of her ten year old nephew and his recently clued in father. Wanting to get rid of them, she said, "well, I'm sure Bailey has to use the little boy's room after such a long flight. Why don't you take him, Ryan, and Marissa and I will wait out front for the two of you."

"Aunt Caity, I'm not four like JJ. I wasn't that long of a flight, and I know when I do and don't have to use the bathroom."

Undeterred, she suggested, "in that case, why don't you two strapping men go and get the luggage from the baggage claim for your Mom."

"We all had carry ons," Marissa spoke up, puzzled by her sister's insistence that they have a minute alone. "What's going on?"

"Would you please just go along with me for once without asking questions," the younger woman whispered through clenched teeth. As soon as she finished threatening her older sibling, she turned back to her nephew and his father. "What about a snack. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving. Hot pretzels and drinks for all – my treat," she offered with a wide, fake smile on her face while she reached for her purse.

"I don't like soft pretzels, and Bailey shouldn't ruin his dinner," Ryan finally spoke up for the first time.

"Who the hell asked you, Atwood," Caitlyn snapped, glaring at him. "You know, I've been nice to you since your ugly mug showed up around here, but that could end just as abruptly as it started." His pointed, disagreeing countenance made her edit her statement. "Alright, so I've been slightly hostile at times, but you've got to admit that I'm tamer than I used to be when it comes to your relationship with my sister."

"Yeah, you're about as tame as a mama bear protecting her cub," he accused with a grin. For some reason, he loved nothing more than to harass and aggravate the other woman. "But, like you said, it is a slight improvement. I'd rather have Caitlyn the Grizzly any day over who you used to be, Caitlyn the Rabid Mountain Lion. By the way, what did cause this moderation in your temper? Was it a tranquilizer?"

"Marissa," the brunette practically yelled as she turned towards her sibling, "you better get a muzzle on your maybe, might be in the future, could have been, would have been, should have been, or, perhaps, never gonna happen partner here before I slice out his liver with my nails."

"Do you want that served with some fava beans and a nice chianti," Bailey goaded his aunt, giggling lightly to himself when she turned a surprised glare in his direction.

"Withdrawal your claws, werewoman," Ryan playfully ordered. "I was just returning the favor of harassment you leveled upon me for months back when I was friends with your sister. If you wanted a moment alone with her so the two of you could talk, all you had to do was ask."

"Oh," she replied quietly, suddenly slightly apologetic.

"Why don't we," he motioned between himself and his ten year old son, "go and get your car from the parking lot. We'll pick you two ladies up at the front entrance in a few minutes."

Appreciative of his offer, Caitlyn handed over her keys without another smart mouth comment and actually smiled at Ryan in thanks as he and his son moved away. Turning towards her sister, she observed the smug smile on the older woman's face but chose to ignore it.

"Now was that really so bad," Marissa wondered out loud, "making nice with him? Don't you think you could cut him some slack from now on?"

"I can't believe you let your son watch _Silence of the Lambs_!"

"Way to avoid the topic there, Caity," the older of the two women teased, but, perhaps because she didn't want to fight with her sister, she let it go. "As for letting Bailey watch the movie, he's a very mature ten year old, and there was no way in hell I was going to watch it on my own."

Laughing, the brunette slung her arm around her sibling's shoulders as they moved towards the entrance to the airport. "So, tell me how the trip went? Did you get some," she queried, wiggling her eyebrows?"

"I swear you were born the wrong sex," Marissa quipped, "and, for your information, I didn't 'get some.'" Conveniently leaving out some of the details from the night she spent with Ryan before the truth came out, she continued. "We're not in that place right now. In fact, we might never be there again, and, really, when you think about what I did to him, can you really blame him?"

"Well, if nothing else," the younger woman rationalized, "that at least tells me what to get you for your birthday." As soon as their lighthearted mirth died down, she pressed, "but, seriously, how did spending so much time with you ex-whatever you call Ryan go?"

"It was weird," the blonde confessed, "weird and awkward, and it made me feel disheartened, because we never were like that before with each other, not even when we first started running into each other a few months ago. Our connection was effortless before, but I guess that's just another thing I ruined by keeping our son from him for so long."

"Listen, I know that you're always going to feel terrible about what you did to both of them, but you're going to have to put aside some of this guilt you're dealing with if you ever want to move on," Caitlyn suggested. "It's over, it's done with, you made a mistake and it's too late now to go back and fix it. All that's left for you to do is to make the best out of your present situation, and that includes making peace with yourself."

"Easier said than done."

Not willing to dwell upon the negative, the mother of two changed the subject. "So, how was Seattle itself? Did you get to see any of your old friends?"

"No," Marissa answered, "we mainly focused upon Bailey the whole time we were there. We took him to the field our plane crash landed in the day we met, we showed him my old apartment, the places Ryan and I used to hang out, and I even took the two of them to that old building I was planning on buying to turn into a dance studio and a home for the two of us."

"And how did that go over?"

"Bailey really didn't get the significance of it, but Ryan was shocked speechless, and, eventually, his shock turned into guilt."

"Guilt," Caitlyn parroted, "guilt about what?"

"He partially blames himself for my actions."

"Oh, good," the younger woman beamed happily, "he's finally learning that he's always at fault."

"Caity, this is serious," the dance instructor corrected her sibling. "I don't want him taking responsibility for my actions. No one is to blame for the decisions I made except for me."

"Okay, I give in," the brunette shrugged helplessly, "I'll try to be nice to him."

"Thank you," Marissa said sincerely.

Once again, the younger of the two women moved the conversation along. "So, now what?"

"Now, I'm home," the mother of three stated confidently. "I'm home, and, no matter how fond I am of Seattle and the memories the city holds for me, it hurts too much to go back there. Besides," she smiled, attempting to look on the bright side, "my life here is waiting for me, and it's time I tried to make sense of it again. I have to take care of my children, fix this mess of a situation with Ryan for them and myself, and, once I've done that, I can try to see if there's anything salvageable between the two of us."

"It sounds like you know what you're doing," Caitlyn replied, giving her sister one last, brief hug as her car pulled up in front of them. While Marissa climbed into the backseat with Bailey, Ryan got out of the driver's seat and sat on the passenger side so that she could drive. "So, where to first," she queried, lilting her voice to sound like a recently immigrated New York taxi cab driver.

"Just take me back to my hotel room, please," Ryan asked from beside her. He was facing the front of the car, so he never saw the small, hopeful smiles fall from his son's and former lover's faces, but Caitlyn, who had been looking through the rearview mirror had, and, in that instant, she knew nothing between the three of them was going to be easy or pain free.

"So, we're here," Marissa observed automatically, perhaps feeling pressure to say something as the three of them, Ryan, Bailey, and herself, approached his hotel room door. While she and their son had opted to walk his father up to his room, Caitlyn had opted to wait in the car.

"You're more than welcome to come in," the older of the two Atwood boys offered, smiling crookedly. "We could order up some room service, maybe watch a movie together, or just talk. I'm sure your sister wouldn't mind driving the rest of the way home by herself, and, when you're ready to leave, I'll call the two of you a cab."

"Can we Mom?"

"Oh, sweetie, I know you want to, but we can't. I can't," she clarified, looking up to meet her ex's gaze. "I haven't seen Rowan or Quentin since Friday morning, and I miss my babies. Plus, after the flight, I'm tired, and I just want to go home, unpack, make some dinner for the four of us, and sleep for as long as the kids will let me. I feel drained, physically and emotionally."

"That's understandable," Ryan offered, though it was obvious he was disappointed with her response.

"But Mom," the ten year old continued to argue, "we won't stay that late, and I'm sure Aunt Caity and Uncle Jackson won't mind watching Rowy and Quentin for a couple more hours."

"Kiddo, you have school tomorrow," Marissa, always the mother pointed out, "and you already missed one day last week because of everything that happened on Friday, so you have to get to bed early tonight. Besides, even if you didn't, I said no. You don't get to argue with me, right, Ryan?"

"Uh, what," he asked, startled at being included in the parenting conversation.

"I said, our son doesn't get to argue with me, right? What we say goes."

"We?"

"Yes, you get a vote now, too, when it comes to what Bailey does and doesn't do. After all," she pointed out with a gentle smile on her face, "you are his Dad, and Dad's make decisions for their kids."

"You're right, I am his Dad," Ryan nearly beamed as he declared his claim to his son, "and, as your Father, I have to agree with your Mom." Softening his tone, he continued, "besides, we just spent three days together. I don't want you to get sick of me or anything already."

"That's not going to happen," Bailey stated decidedly.

"Well, nevertheless, you do need to go home. We'll see each other soon though."

"Of course you will," Marissa agreed with him. "In fact, I was thinking maybe we could do this whole dinner and movie night later in the week. How does Friday sound to you," she suggested. "Bailey will be done with school for the week, and I don't have any classes on the weekend. If you want," she gave Ryan the option, "we could make it one big party, you, Bailey, me, Rowan, and Quentin. You could either come out to the studio or we could meet you here."

"That sounds great," he consented. "We can work out the details later though."

"Great," she beamed at him. Turning towards their son, she assured him, "and, just because you're not going to see your Dad every day, that doesn't mean you can't talk to him whenever you want. He can call you, and you can use the phone anytime you want to call him, too."

"Can I call you before I go to bed," Bailey asked eagerly, turning towards his father, "to say goodnight?"

"I'd like that kiddo."

"Okay then, everything's settled," Marissa announced, ending the discussion. Meeting Ryan's gaze, she said, "so, he'll call you tonight, you can call him anytime you want, and we'll talk sometime this week to iron out the details for Friday night." He nodded his head in agreement. "Well, I'm just going to wait over there then," she motioned down the hallway towards the elevators, "and let you two say goodbye."

Stepping away from the father and son pair, she moved far enough away so that she couldn't hear their conversation. She watched as they both shared a quiet laugh before sobering again. They were so much alike, especially with their mannerisms and level of emotional availability, keeping their feelings very much locked inside of them and close to the vest. She just hoped that perhaps their relationship with each other would eventually make them more emotionally available and free them from their sentimental constraints. As they shared a loose, tentative hug before parting, her faith in their connection increased. Taking Bailey by the hand, they boarded the elevator together, silently waiving goodbye to Ryan as he stood outside of his room and watched them until they disappeared from his sight. It wasn't everything, but it was progress.

"Hey, Rowan, can you come sit with Mommy for a minute," Marissa asked her two and half year old. Bailey was quietly reading on the chair beside her, Quentin was happily lying on the floor and watching the ceiling fan turn at a slow pace, and she felt it was the perfect time to bring up the Ryan issue with her precocious daughter. "I have to talk to you for a little while."

"Rowy in trouble?"

"No, sweetie, you're not in trouble," the young mother soothed her little girl's nerves, stifling a laugh at the fact that the boisterous tot immediately assumed she had gotten caught doing something wrong. Although she knew her daughter was no angel and that there probably was something she should be punished for, Marissa also knew what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. "I actually need to tell you something about Bailey."

Giggling, the mischievous toddler gloated. "Uh oh, Mommy, is Baiwey in trouble?"

"No, your brother is not in trouble, and it's not very nice that you were hoping he was." Immediately the soon-to-be three year old's amusement ceased. "This is something that's actually good news." Seeing the little girl's curious expression, she continued. "Do you remember how I explained to you that Bailey has a different Dad than you do?"

"Yep."

"Well, your brother met his Dad, and, actually, you already know him."

"Is it Santa Clause?"

"No," Marissa laughed at the child's innocence, "it's not Santa, but that would be cool," she agreed, making her daughter laugh, "because then, whenever you were bad, I could make you go and work with the elves, and I'd tell them to not let you have any cookies."

"Dat's not very nice, Mommy," the tot pouted, earning herself a kiss on the cheek from her Mom. "Rowy likes cookies."

"I know you do, baby, and, if you're good and you listen to what I'm about to tell you, then you can have one before bed, okay?" Eagerly, the toddler nodded her acceptance. "Okay, so do you remember Mr. Atwood, Ryan?"

"Duh, dilly, he's Rowy's friend."

"He's also your brother's Dad."

"Mr. Itwood," Rowan asked, her eyes wide and large with shock and surprise. "Really?"

"Really, really," Marissa teased, smiling in an effort to offer her small daughter some assurance and comfort.

"Is he Rowy's Daddy, too?"

"No, baby girl, he's not."

Silently, the two and half year old thought over her Mother's answer. Finally, she spoke up again. "Dat's okay," she assured her, "because Rowy likes her friends better than her Daddy."

Despite knowing that she should correct her daughter and insist that she love her Father, Marissa just couldn't confuse her little girl even more, and, pleased that she had accepted the news that Ryan was Bailey's father so easily, she let the topic drop. "Why don't you go and see if your brother will read to you while I put Quentin down for the night and get you your cookie?"

"I read," the bright toddler insisted, holding out her hands until her Mother placed a book in her lap. Smiling up in thanks at the only parent she really knew before she looked back down at the storybook she was holding, Rowan immediately became immersed in the pictures of the tale even though she couldn't read a word of it. Seeing that her daughter was occupied, Marissa carefully lifted her youngest son onto her shoulder and carried him into her room so that she could put him down to sleep. Thirty minutes later, Quentin was breast fed, rocked, and sound asleep, and she held a bag of cookies in her hand as she made her way back into the living room. When she got there though, she found both of her children's books haphazardly tossed aside on the floor while the two of them sat together on the couch talking into the speaker phone. Quietly, she took a seat beside them, picking her little girl up and holding her in her lap while distributing the cookies.

"Who are you talking to," she wondered out loud in a whisper.

"Sshh," Rowan ordered her Mother impatiently. "It's Mr. Itwood."

Just then his voice on the phone confirmed what her daughter had said. "Marissa, is that you? I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."

"No, this is fine. We're just having some cookies before I put Rowan to bed."

"Have you already told them their bedtime story yet," he queried, obviously going somewhere with his question, but Marissa was unsure exactly where.

"No, why?"

"Because I've heard there's a story behind that pumpkin patch you have growing behind your house."

"Yeah, Mommy," the soon-to-be three year old cheered. "Tell Rowy the Punkin Boy story!"

Despite the fact that Ryan couldn't see her, Marissa felt herself blush. "Alright, quit begging," she teased her toddler, "you look like a naughty, little puppy when you do that." Amongst the two children's laughter, the small family settled down together on the couch, Bailey tucked against his Mother's left hand side and Rowan curled into her lap while Ryan remained on the phone, waiting to listen to their favorite bedtime story with them. Clearing her throat, the young mother began the tale. "Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom there lived a sad little boy who, although he didn't know it, had been kidnapped by two greedy, selfish thieves and taken away from the castle where he would have been a prince. Years passed, and the man and woman the little boy believed to be his parents plotted away,..."

Into the night, the story progressed, and, though he wasn't there beside them, holding her as she put their son and her daughter to sleep, Marissa felt Ryan's company to the point where she would almost swear his physical presence was in the room. It was a comfort to her, and, for the first time in years, she truly felt as if her children had the family they deserved.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

It had been a slow day at work, no cows with mastitis, no horses with a broken leg, no pigs giving birth, and no pets to spay or neuter, so, instead of sitting around her office and harassing the nurses and receptionists by squirting water at them through needles, Caitlyn had decided to pick her kids up early, take them out for a ridiculously unhealthy afternoon snack, and let her sister have more time to get ready for her big family night that evening with Ryan. When she had dropped the boys off that morning, Marissa had seemed slightly distracted, but she had dismissed her concern. After all, how big of a deal was it to have dinner with an ex when your three kids were there with you? But, as she made her way up the driveway towards the entrance of the studio, she started to question her instincts. There was no one outside which was a rarity on a beautiful, warm February day, for Marissa always liked to take the kids out to play, and she couldn't hear any noise coming from inside the house either. Her sister's car was parked in the garage, she could see it through the windows, so she knew they were home, but what five young kids and one slightly sensitive, neurotic adult could be doing so silently, Caitlyn had little to no idea.

Surprising herself, she knocked. There was no sense in startling her already on-edge older sister. "Hey, what's going on around here," she asked, softening her voice when she realized Bailey was reading while he answered the door. "Kid, this place is quieter that the eighteenth green at Augusta National during the Masters when Tiger's attempting to sink his tournament winning birdie put."

She had to wait several seconds for her nephew to respond while he finished the sentence he was on, but, when he did put the book aside and look up at her, he was smiling. "Nice sports reference, Aunt Caity."

"I've been brushing up on my athletic knowledge now that Atwood's back and sniffing around. No one is going to one-up me."

Confused, the ten year old asked her, "why?"

"Because I'm the queen of quick quips and pop culture references, I'm competitive, and I really don't like your Dad. I just pretend to somewhat put up with him for your sake and your Mom's. But that's not what I want to talk about," she rapidly changed the subject. "Where are all the hellions?"

"Quentin and Carter are taking their naps up in my room," Bailey recited as if he had memorized a prepared report, "Rowan is in her own room watching that movie you made of her birthday party last year…."

"Well, her birthday's coming up in two months," Caitlyn interrupted, "she has to get prepared."

"And JJ's watching Scooby-Doo upstairs in the living room."

"So then where's your Mom? Isn't she supposed to be watching all of you?"

The little boy shrugged his shoulders. "She's in the closet."

"Oh, sweetheart, it's one torrid affair, a marriage, and three kids too late for that." His bewildered expression stopped the older woman in her tracks and made her pause to speak to him, once again, before continuing up the stairs to find her sister. "Do they still offer sex-ed in sixth grade?" Bailey nodded his head in affirmation. "Alright then, ask me about that comment in about two more years. It'll make more sense then. I'm going to make sure your Mom hasn't done something stupid….like give herself bangs. We might be a little while. Can you keep an eye on the brats for me until your Mom and I are finished? I'll make it worth your while if you can make sure we're not disturbed."

"How worth my while?"

Winking at her nephew, the aunt teased, "I'm talking about the Benjamin's, baby."

Intrigued, Bailey pushed, "you'll give me a fifty to watch the kids?"

"A fifty," the older woman shrieked, caught off guard, "are you crazy? I was just making a reference to monetary compensation. If you want a literal statement, I'm talking about the Lincoln's baby."

"Five bucks might have been worth it when you were a kid," the ten year old admitted, "but that was a long time ago."

"You're not scoring any points there, Junior."

"I'm just stating a fact," Bailey argued. "It's called inflation, Aunt Caity. Prices do go up."

"You're too damn smart for your own good, but I'm desperate. How does a $20 sound?"

Walking past her and up the stairs before she could say anything else or retract her offer, Bailey said, "it's a deal," immediately dropping his nose back into his book and dismissing the stunned veterinarian. Making her way upstairs and towards her sister's room, Caitlyn mumbled under her breath. "I see spending time with his father is already deteriorating his personality. Alright," she announced her presence, "what's wrong?"

Peering her head out of the closet, Marissa inquired, "what are you doing here?"

"Don't you think I should be asking you that, R. Kelly?"

"You're early," the older of the two sisters ignored her sibling's barb. "I wasn't going to be in here by the time you were supposed to pick up the kids."

"Boo."

"No, really, why aren't you at work?"

"Apparently, the local pets decided to take it easy on me today. There were no medical emergencies, and no one ordered the Bob Barker special for their four legged, furry friend," the auburn haired woman retorted, "so I decided to spend some time with my kids instead of pestering my employees."

Smirking, Marissa replied, "I'm sure they're very thankful for the reprieve."

"Alright, so that explains why I'm here, but you still haven't confessed as to why you're hiding out and talking to your shoes. Unless they suddenly have the answer to end world hunger or are offering you business advice, then I'm thinking something is wrong."

"I don't know what to wear."

Scrunching her face up in question, Caitlyn wondered out loud, "wear to what?"

"Dinner tonight," the blonde answered, "with Ryan."

"Yeah, and don't forget the little, seemingly insignificant details I like to call Bailey, Rowan, and Shetland. Tonight should be about them, especially Bailey, and not about you and Ryan, so I suggest you wear clothes…with lots of coverage."

"I know that," Marissa agreed, "I do, but I don't want to completely turn him off."

"I'm going to regret this," the younger sibling bemoaned, "but what do you want your outfit to say?"

"I want to present the impression that I'm a Mom first and foremost, but, if he's still interested, I want him to know that I am, too. Granted, we're just going to have takeout tonight and watch movies, but, besides the three guests under the age of twelve, that's practically a date."

"I don't mean to be the downer here. Okay," Caitlyn shrugged, "maybe I am, but you just revealed to the man not even two weeks ago that you kept his son from him for ten years. You're more than just three kids away from tonight being a date. You're also running short in the trust and honesty departments, and who's to say that Ryan even wants a relationship with you?"

"He did before I told him about Bailey."

"You said the key word there, Honey," the vet pointed out, "before. Who knows what he's thinking or feeling now."

"But that's just another reason why I can't figure out what to wear. I want my outfit to say I'm interested just in case he is, too, but I don't want it to be a blatant offer." Sighing in exasperation, the mother of three motioned towards her clothes. "To top it all off, I'm still not back into my regular clothes."

"Ah, those pesky final five pounds a mother has to lose after giving birth."

"I haven't exactly been focused upon working out, even with starting to give classes again. There have been a few other things on my mind lately."

"Understandable."

"I just…this is important to me, Caitlyn. I want to do this right. I want Bailey to get to know his father and learn to love him the way he should have naturally been able to if I had told Ryan the truth all those years ago, I want my younger two children to get to know and spend time with Ryan as well, because he's good to them, and I want Ryan with us, all four of us, all the time. I know it's selfish, I know that I have no right to hope for a relationship with him, but I've given him up and I've settled in my life one too many times, and I'm not going to do it anymore." Standing up from her position on the floor, Marissa continued. "So, I'm going to fight for him, for both me and my children. I'm going to show him that I want to be with him, that the four of us need him in our life, and that, if he wants us, too, we'll be here waiting for him for as long as it takes. That's why what I wear tonight is so important."

"Alright, alright," the younger woman conceded, "you twisted my arm. I'll help you figure out an outfit that attempts to say the monologue you just finished reciting, but I have to tell you, it'd probably just be easier to tell him how you feel instead of trying to show him with your clothes."

"I'm not brave enough to talk to him about how I feel yet," the blonde admitted. "I might be able to tell you all of this while we're standing in my closet, but to face Ryan and completely open myself up just for him to shut me down? Yeah, I'd definitely need some liquid courage to do that, and I'm still breast feeding, so no extra dry, dirty martinis for me."

"Just another reason little Friesian is my favorite nephew." Her sister's glare made Caitlyn hastily switch topics. "But, this isn't about me; this is about your fashion emergency. So, this is what I'd do. I'd wear something cute that's still casual and comfortable, but, just in case something starts to happen, I'd have some sexy lingerie on underneath my clothes."

"Lingerie," the older woman repeated after her sibling. "I can do that."

"Well, now that my job's done here and you can rejoin the company of those with fully functioning mental capacities, I'm going to get my kids and the three of us are going to go out for some greasy, fattening food." Pausing by the door, the auburn haired sister looked back in. "Oh, and go with blue lingerie. It'll bring out your eyes."

Crisis averted. With a laugh, she left to get both boys, so she could take them to get their snack. The only thing that served to dim Caitlyn's mood as she pulled out of the studio's driveway was the fact that she was $20 poorer than what she was when she had arrived fifteen minutes before. Bailey hadn't been lying. Inflation really had wrecked havoc on the cost of good childcare. Time, for more than one reason, really was a bitch.

The evening had gone well. Not only did Ryan have Chinese for them, but, thinking like a parent, he had been prepared for Rowan's complaints and picky nature, offering her a wide variety of kid-friendly foods. She and Bailey had settled and agreed upon macaroni and cheese, and, of course, Quentin was still nursing or taking formula. He had also selected a variety of movies, because he wasn't sure what they would like, and so, after several minutes of bickering between the two oldest children, they had decided to let Rowan choose the first film, because she would fall asleep earlier, and Bailey could pick the second. Despite Ryan's disbelief, she was not surprised when her daughter quickly selected _Dirty Dancing_, because, just as she had been at a young age, the endearing two and a half year old loved movies with music and dancing. Between the first and second films, Marissa had stepped into one of the bedroom in Ryan's new apartment to quietly feed Quentin in peace, knowing that he was ready to be put down for the night. Fortunately, he was a content baby, and, after getting full, he went easily to sleep in his carrier. By the time she rejoined them in the living room, Bailey had just put in the second film, _Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles_, and Rowan was sound asleep on the floor beside her very wide awake older brother.

"Hey," a quiet Ryan nudged her shoulder in an attempt to rouse her. If asked, Marissa would swear that she had just closed her eyes at the beginning of the movie for a second or two, but, as she opened them again to peer at the father of her oldest child, she realized the second movie was over, all three of her kids were sound asleep, and that Ryan was watching her with thinly veiled amusement. "I guess you conked out there on me."

"Sorry about that," she hastily apologized, moving away from him on the couch and standing up. "I was up early this morning, and, with the kids, I really don't stay up that late normally."

"It's not a problem," he reassured her. "I was picking on you."

"Well, if you'll help me get them out to the car," she motioned towards the children, "we'll soon be on our way and out of your hair."

"You're not in my hair, and," Ryan dropped his eyes from hers and rubbed the back of his neck almost as if he was nervous, "I'd really feel better if you stayed here tonight. You're exhausted, and I don't want you out driving when you're this tired."

"I'll be fine."

Quirking his eyebrow at her in a challenging manner, he said, "humor me."

"Really, it's no big deal. I'll stop and get a cup of coffee at the convenient store down the street, and I'll even call you as soon as we get home," Marissa offered. "Besides," she pointed out, "you just moved in, and it doesn't look like you're ready for houseguests yet."

"Follow me," he asked her, surprising the mother of three when he took her by the hand and led her down the hallway towards his room. Liking the feeling of his hand holding hers, Marissa tightened her grip and smiled up at him, believing the intimate contact to be a start, even if just a minor one, for them. "Just in case something like this happened," Ryan explained, opening a door she hadn't been through yet and flipping on the light, "I set a room up that your kids can use whenever they want." Inside of the room was not only a set of bunk beds but also a portable crib, and it was decorated in baseball memorabilia. "It's Bailey's room for whenever he feels comfortable enough to stay with me," he elaborated, "but I wanted to make sure that Rowan and Quentin would feel welcome as well."

"Ryan," Marissa looked up at him with unshed tears of appreciation and adoration shining in her eyes, "this is wonderful, but where would I sleep if we stayed here tonight?"

"You can use my room, and I'll take the couch."

Protesting, she argued, "I can't ask you do that."

"You didn't ask; I offered. Now," he instructed, turning her back around and easing her towards his bedroom, "go and get ready for bed, and I'll carry all three kids into their room."

"Well, actually," Marissa admitted, grinning shyly, "now that I'm awake, it'll take me a little while before I fall back asleep. Do you think that we could at least start another movie?"

"Sure," he agreed with a grin. "I actually got _Dirty Dancing_ for the two of us to watch after the kids nodded off, knowing your weak spot for chick flicks with dancing, but Rowan put the kibosh on that plan." Contemplating for a moment, he winked at her once he came up with an idea. "But I think I know what we could watch instead. It has a little something for both of us." Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he walked them back into the living room, and, together, they put their son and her two younger children to bed. It was just another reaffirming moment for the mother of three, telling her that Ryan did, in fact, want to be a part of their family in every way he could be.

It was several hours later when Marissa woke up, once again, on the couch, but, this time, she and Ryan were alone, and he was asleep, too. They had watched _A League of Their Own_, a sports movie she could honesty say she enjoyed. Not only did it feature Madonna, but it also had humor and heart, not to mention the fact that some of the baseball moves the girls performed were thanks to detailed choreography. She had laughed and cried at various points of the film, and, when it was over, she and Ryan had sat together on the couch, cuddled closely so that their voices would not wake the children, and talked. They talked about simple things – the kids' and their own various tastes in movies, ideas of what they could do to spend time together the next weekend, and how, even so many years before Rosie O'Donnell had admitted that she was lesbian, her fondness for women was obvious despite the fact that her character was supposed to be straight. Some things were just apparent no matter what, and, she had mused silently to herself, that's exactly how she would describe their connection with one another. However, somewhere during their conversation, the two of them had ended up falling asleep, her head resting on his shoulder.

Not wanting him to sleep like that for the rest of the night, she rose, quickly stretched out her stiff muscles, and then gently shook Ryan awake. "Hey, come on," she urged, moving to pull him up after her, "let's go to bed."

"Wait," he resisted, "what do you mean? I'm sleeping out here, remember?"

"I know that's what you said, but it's ridiculous," Marissa argued. "We shared a bed for months platonically back when I lived in Seattle. There's no reason why we can't do it tonight, too."

"But that was years ago," Ryan pointed out. "A lot has changed since then. I mean, we have a son now."

"Exactly," she laughed. "I think we're past the point where we can be shy with one another. Come on," she pleaded, "don't make me feel bad for kicking you out of your room."

He stood up and moved towards her, standing so that they were just inches apart and making Marissa believe that he was going to give in. Reaching up to cup her jaw, he leaned his face in and rested his forehead against hers. "A part of me would like to," he confessed, "but I can't. We can't," he elaborated, "because it's too soon for us to be that close again. We still have a lot of things to figure out, and it would be wrong of me to do anything with you before I know how I feel….about everything."

"You mean about me," she said quickly, blinking away her tears.

"Hey, don't be mad."

"I'm not," she went to argue, swallowing several times before she could continue. "I'm not mad at you, Ryan; I'm mad at me." Shaking her head to will away her emotions, she pressed. "I really won't try anything, I swear. I don't want to rush you or force you to make any decisions you're not ready to make yet. It's just….you have a king sized bed. It's ridiculous for you to sleep on the couch and be uncomfortable all night long. We can even put a line of pillows down the middle of the bed so that we don't touch at all during the night."

"First of all," he responded, "the couch is fine. I've slept out here three times already this week, because I always fall asleep watching _Sportscenter_, and, secondly, as for your pillow idea," he chuckled before continuing, "trust me, if we were in the same bed together, no pillow could stop me from touching you."

Before she could offer a response, he surprised her even further by leaning in and kissing her. At first the embrace was soft, exploratory, just a simple brushing of their lips, but, after the first, initial taste, Ryan intensified their contact, prying her mouth open with his tongue and kissing her deeply. When neither of them could last any longer without separating for air, he pulled away, but, as she moved towards him for a second coupling of their lips, he backed several steps away from her and held out a hand to stop her progression towards him.

"I…. um….we….," he murmured, unsure of what to should say, "I'm sorry. That shouldn't have happened. I didn't mean to; I just…."

"It's fine," she quickly reassured him, blushing and turning away quickly. Hurt but feeling as if she had no right to be, Marissa simply left him standing there and made her way towards him room, but, before she could enter, he was there by her side, opening the door for her, and talking.

"Let me get you something to sleep in."

"I'm alright, Ryan. You don't need to get me anything." As she pulled down the blankets and stepped out of her shoes, he merely stood there and watched her from the doorway, too afraid to come closer but, apparently, unable to leave as well. "I'll just sleep in my underwear."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Once the bed was ready, she went to remove her shirt, but he was still standing there. "Ryan?"

"Uh….what?"

Frustrated with his mixed singles, Marissa gave up and simply undressed, paying him no attention and just hoping that he would leave before her tears started. It only took her a moment to pull her shirt and jeans off, tossing them aside before slipping under the covers. Once she had the sheet pulled up around her shoulders, she unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, making sure, during the process, that Ryan wouldn't be able to see her topless. Although she didn't look at him, she could tell he remained standing there in the doorway. Eventually, after several minutes had passed, the lights were turned off, and he turned around to leave.

"Night."

Unable to say anything for she was too upset, she rolled over onto her opposite side, buried her face in the pillow, let the scent of her former lover wash over her senses, and cried herself to sleep. She had no idea what he wanted from her, no idea what he was thinking about them, and no idea how to ask him to talk to her. After all, he had a right to be uncommunicative, to give her mixed signals, and to be unsure of how he felt, but, despite wanting to give him all the time in the world to work through the secret she had kept from him for so many years, Marissa didn't know how long her heart would be able to stay in one piece before his constant push and pull tore it apart for good.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

If she could have closed her eyes and wished away the physical and emotional tension separating herself from Ryan, Marissa's day would have been perfect, but could haves and would haves were only meant for fairytales, and life had guaranteed that she stopped believing in magic and happily ever after at much too young of an age. Instead of castles in the sky and knights in shining armor, as a teenager she had dreamt of three solid meals a day for her little sister, a one bedroom apartment with properly working amenities, and the chance to make something of herself. Through hard work, perseverance, and sheer will, she had accomplished her dreams and then some, but her successes were not because of someone else rescuing her or waving a magic wand; everything she had in life, Marissa had accomplished for herself. So, she knew that if she wanted the picture before her to become a reality, she would have to do something about it herself, and there was no time like the present.

"So, Ryan," she asked, lifting her eyes from the plate of food she had balanced on her lap to meet those of her ex lover's, interrupting the banter occurring between her oldest son, his father, and her only daughter, "what are you doing next Saturday?"

"Ugh, next Saturday," he repeated, startled by her question and, momentarily, at a loss for words. "I really don't know. Most of the time, I don't really plan too far ahead. Why?"

"We're having a party for Aunt Caitwyn," Rowan announced, proud that she could participate in the adult conversation and grinning smugly. "Mommy's taking Rowy shopping with her this week for presents, and no boys are allowed to come. Sorry, Mr. Itwood."

He grinned, chuckling lightly. "That's okay. I'll forgive you this once." Turning his attention to the mother of three, he queried, "did you need me to watch the boys? Is that why you were wondering if I was free next Saturday?"

"Oh, no," Marissa quickly dismissed. "We're going shopping Wednesday morning. I don't have any classes then, Bailey will be in school, and Quentin's grandmother is going to watch him for a few hours for me. I was actually wondering if you'd like to go with us."

"To your sister's birthday party?" The hesitant, suspicious expression on his face belied his confusion and wariness. "Are you two not getting long?"

"We're fine. Why?"

"Well, to put it nicely, I'm not really Caitlyn's favorite person, so it would make sense if you were mad at her and wanted to bring me as some form of payback or a kind of cruel and unusual punishment."

"Please," the dance instructor rolled her eyes, "you're overreacting. So, you and Caity push each others buttons a little bit. It's all in fun."

Ryan looked at her closely. "Are we talking about the same sister here, or do you have another one that I'm unaware of?"

"Yeah, Mom," Bailey piped up, offering his two cents, "she really doesn't like him."

Both adults turned their attention onto the ten year old. "How do you know that," Marissa questioned.

"Because she told me so, just last week," the little boy replied. "You know," he pressed, trying to spark his mother's memory, "the day we went over to Ryan's place to watch movies, and you were sitting in your closet."

"Why were you sitting in your closet," the sports writer wondered, smirking.

"It's not important," Marissa snapped in an attempt to direct the conversation away from her strange behavior. "Now tell me, what did you Aunt say?"

"She said," Bailey revealed, "'I really don't like your Dad. I just pretend to somewhat put up with him for your sake and your Mom's.'"

"She didn't mean it."

"I don't know," Ryan's voice betrayed his doubt, "she sounded pretty serious, not to mention the fact that the nicest thing she's probably ever said to me is 'I hope you live for another twenty-four hours so I can kick your ass."

"Aw," the little two and half year old girl chastised. "Mr. Itwood said a bad word, Mama."

"I know, baby, but do you remember what I told you about adults, how they're allowed to say bad words but you're not?"

"But Rowy doesn't think it's fair! When will her be old enough to say bad words?"

Ruffling her little girl's chocolate brown curls, Marissa smiled sympathetically. "I hope not for a very long time. Mommy doesn't want you to grow up too quickly."

"How about this," Ryan suggested, capturing the bright toddler's attention by drawing her into his lap. "Every time I say a bad word, I have to pay you a dollar."

A mischievous twinkle lit up the two and half year old's eyes. "Every time?"

"You don't have to do this," the mother of three reassured her ex. "She's old enough to understand that there are some things she can't do and adults can."

"It's okay, I don't mind. Besides," the writer rationalized, "it will be good for me. If I'm going to be around your kids, I should learn to think before I speak."

"Well, obviously my sister still hasn't learned that lesson, so I couldn't hold a few inappropriate words against you," Marissa stated, scowling. "But, okay," she agreed. "After all, it's your money, so it's your decision. However," she looked pointedly at her daughter, "you will not take advantage of this situation, and only the really, really bad words count." Rowan's only response was to pout and glower at her mother while burrowing herself even deeper into Ryan's embrace. "As for my sister and her big mouth, you let me handle her. If I know Caitlyn at all, and I think I do, she was probably just talking to hear her own voice, making tactless comments as a joke to lighten an uptight situation. If it's more than that and she does feel animosity towards you, then you going with us to her birthday party next weekend is the perfect way to start improving your relationship." Just then, waking up from his nap, Quentin started to stir and quietly fuss from his carrier. Picking him up, she added, "oh, and getting her a really nice present wouldn't be a bad idea either."

"So, you're telling me that the way into a woman's good graces is through bribery," Ryan asked with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Not letting the opportunity pass by, the dance instructor looked up from her youngest child and locked her gaze with the man's she loved. "Not all women, just Caity."

It wasn't the first time the former couple had shared an awkward moment since becoming reacquainted with each other, and they both knew it wouldn't be the last. Several seconds passed in silence, the ex-lovers unable to take their eyes off of each other and the children baffled by what the undercurrents of emotion swirling around them meant. Finally, with the patience typical of a toddler, Marissa's daughter interrupted.

"Rowy wants to play."

"Me, too," Bailey added excitedly. Turning towards the man he had just recently come to know as his father, he asked, "can we play catch?"

"Why don't we play something that your sister can play, too," Ryan suggested, "like soccer. I have a ball in my car. While you two go and find a spot, I'll get it." Standing up, the three of them made to leave, but he stopped and looked back towards the mother of his son. "Do you want to come with us?"

"Go ahead," she instructed him with a warm smile. "Quentin's going to need fed, so I'll just stay here. Just be careful."

"Don't worry," he promised her. "I'll take care of your kids."

"That's not what I meant," she giggled, waving her hand to dismiss his doubts about his parenting abilities. "You need to be careful of Rowan. My daughter plays dirty."

"I wonder who she learned that from."

"Hey, mister," Marissa went along with the teasing, enjoying their brief moment of flirtatious banter, "I don't play games. You must be confusing me with someone else."

"No, I know exactly who you are, and you're right," he conceded, suddenly sobering quickly. "You never have played games with me. I was thinking more along the lines of someone who's 5'5'', approximately 120 pounds, auburn hair, green, impish eyes, rotten personality."

"Ah, Caitlyn," she reasoned, shaking her head in amusement but feigning disbelief, "she would never play dirty."

"Yeah," Ryan teased her, moving away from the blanket and calling over his shoulder, "and I don't remember every single detail of our first conversation."

"What?"

"You're sitting under a magnolia tree," he replied, but, before she could respond, he was gone, leaving her alone, once again, to ponder his remarks and wonder just exactly he meant by them.

Somewhere between laying down on the picnic blanket with a content and full Quentin in her arms, listening to her daughter's squeals and her oldest son's deeper laughter, and watching the squirrels fly back and forth from tree to tree, she dozed off, waking to the sound of a man's voice softly calling out her name.

"Marissa….Marissa Channing?"

Opening her eyes, she glanced around her until her gaze landed upon a man in his late twenties standing just a few feet away and regarding her closely. "It's soon to be Cooper again but yes."

"It's good to see you," the stranger continued, smiling at her. "And look at this little guy," he commented, squatting down to take a closer look at Quentin who was sleeping on her chest. "How old is he now, three months?"

"Next week," she confirmed. Shaking her head as if to clear the cobwebs of sleep away, she sat up slightly, leaning against the trunk of a tree, and tilted her head in concentration. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "you look familiar, but I can't remember your name."

"Understandable," he sympathized, chuckling softly. "You weren't exactly in the best place when we met. The name's Mike," he introduced himself, jogging her memory.

"Oh, the hospital," she smiled in recognition. "Is anyone ever really in the best place when they're there? Please," she motioned towards the blanket, "have a seat."

Taking her up on her offer, he sat down across from her, keeping a respectful amount of distance between them. "Thanks, and the answer to your question is only the plastic surgery patients. They're always quite pleased with themselves while they're in the hospital."

"That's because they're too vain to become upset; after all, frown lines just might give them wrinkles."

After sharing a common laugh, Mike changed the subject. "So, how have you and….Quentin, right….been these last couple of months?"

"We're healthy," Marissa replied, shrugging her shoulders. "That's the most important thing. Other than that, we've been going through a lot of changes, but they say change is good, don't they?"

"That's right – the divorce. I'd say I was sorry, but then I'd be lying."

"You and me both," she agreed with him, smirking. "How have you been?"

"Same old, same old," the younger man responded. "Work keeps me busy."

"Good," a deep, hostile voice startled them as it interrupted their conversation. Looking up, Marissa was confronted with a pair of intense blue eyes directed squarely towards Mike, the turbulent cobalt depths swirling with a combination of emotion she had only seen radiating from Ryan's irises once before, and, secretly, it sent a thrill through her body. On either side of him stood her two eldest children, Bailey regarding the situation at hand with little interest while holding the soccer ball, but Rowan was infinitely curious, her censors for mischief alerting her to the strained emotions surrounding her. "Why don't you leave here and go back to work. You might actually be wanted there."

Twisting around in his seat, the younger man sized up her ex. "And who the hell do you think you are? If Marissa wants to talk to me, that's no one's business but hers."

"I'm the father of her son," Ryan answered, matching Mike glare for glare. "Who the hell are you?" That captured Bailey's attention, and he tilted his head in his Dad's direction to watch him closely; Rowan just snickered, obviously up to something.

Apparently, neither male was willing to back down, and, before she could say anything to diffuse the situation, they were face to face, nose to nose, and about two seconds away from exchanging blows. Quentin merely slept on, oblivious to the situation surrounding him even as it reached dangerous proportions. "Isn't that rich," Mike returned, ignoring the older man's question. "When it counts, you're not there for Marissa, but here you are today, interrupting an innocent conversation and marking your territory as if you still had a right to. Well, I don't scare that easily, and I sure as hell don't run away from cowards who abandon the mother of their children when they need them the most."

"Listen you little prick, I don't know what you think you know about my relationship with Marissa, but you don't know shit."

"Oh, so that's why I was the one in the room with her sister, holding her hand when she was scared to death and giving birth to your son? Yeah," the dark haired man scoffed, "I don't know anything about you and Marissa at all, do I?"

Ryan released the children's hands and stepped forward, his chest practically bumping into that of his opponent's. "I'm only going to say this once," he seethed, voice low and dangerous, "walk away. Walk away while you still fucking can, and, once you're gone, don't even look back. I want to stay away from me, I want you to stay away from my kids, and I sure as hell want you to stay away from Marissa, and, if I ever catch you talking to her again, you'll be fucking eating out a tube for the rest of your goddamned, miserable life. Do you understand me, asshole?"

Just as Mike was about to raise his fist, Marissa managed to climb to her feet without help, precariously balancing a stirring infant in her arms while maintaining her balance and not falling over. "That's enough," she threatened, insinuating herself between the two enraged and aggressive men. When neither of them backed down, she repeated herself with a more forceful tone. "I said that's enough. You both are blowing this way out of proportion and neither of you really knows what is going on."

"Take the kids and go to the car," Ryan ordered, never taking his eyes off of the younger man. "I'll handle this."

"You're not handling this or anything else," she argued. Looking at Mike, she explained, "This isn't Andrew, my soon to be ex-husband; this is Bailey's father, Ryan Atwood." Facing her former lover, she continued. "And Mike was one of the nurses who was with me when I gave birth to Quentin, so, as you both can see, it's time to put your swords down and quit fighting. I don't need what was a good day ruined for me and my children by your over-inflated male egos and pride."

"I'm sorry, Marissa," the medical professional hastily apologized. "I didn't know…."

"It's alright," she reassured him. "It was good to see you again, but I think I need a few minutes alone with my family."

"Of course," he agreed, moving away from the two adults and the three children. "I'll see you around then."

Even after he was gone, no one moved; no one said a thing. While Ryan and Marissa simply stared at one another, his face cloaked in a sheepish apology while hers spoke of annoyance and confusion, Bailey continued to look between his two parents, studying their expression, Rowan was busy counting something on her fingers, and Quentin slowly awakened from his nap in his mother's arms. It seemed as if there was no one brave enough to break through the tangible friction hanging in the air, well at least not until the soon-to-be three year old had finished her calculations.

"Pay up, Mr. Itwood," the little girl instructed, holding her hand out expectantly. "You owe Rowy six dolwars, seven if prick is a bad word. Is it, Mama?"

Bewildered by the turn in the conversation, the mother of three regarded her middle child with uncertainty written plainly across her still fresh-faced, youthful brow. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It is a bad word," Ryan answered for her, "and I'll pay you as soon as we get back to the car. Bailey," he asked, moving slightly to look at his son, "will you take your brother and sister and help them get into the car while I talk to your Mom?"

"Sure," the ten year old agreed readily, lifting Quentin from Marissa's arms and leading Rowan away towards the parking lot a few paces from their blanket.

"I'm sorry," the sports writer said emphatically, his hands reaching up to hold his ex-lover by the shoulders. "What I just did was wrong. It won't happen again."

"What exactly was that?"

He shrugged, the color of embarrassment tinting his ears. "I don't know. I guess," he admitted softly, diverting his gaze away from hers, "I guess I was jealous. I didn't like seeing you with another man."

"Okay."

"Okay," he questioned, his head snapping up to face her. "That's it; that' all you're going to say?"

"There's nothing else to say," Marissa responded. "You apologized, you promised not to overreact again, and that's it. I'm not going to make a big deal out of this. You were honest with me, and that's all I can ask of you. Plus," she rolled her eyes, her own awkwardness showing through as she lowered both her lashes and her voice, "if I'm going to be candid, too, then I'd have to admit that it was flattering. It's been a long time since I've seen you look at me like that."

"The last time…."

"Was the night we made Bailey together," she finished for him.

"Yeah."

"Come on," the dance instructor urged, "let's get this stuff packed up so we can get out of here. Do you want to stay for dinner tonight?"

"I'd like that," Ryan agreed. As the two of them worked together to fold the blanket and to pick up from their picnic, neither noticed the two pairs of little eyes watching them with interest, shining, exuberant smiles upon their bright faces. It might not have been much, but both children could tell that it was a step, albeit a small one, in the right direction.

The makeshift family of five was greeted the next Saturday before they even made their way into the Ross' back yard. Rowan was leading their group, dressed to impress and regaling strutting the sidewalk as if it was the red carpet or a catwalk. She was followed by Marissa who was holding Quentin and the diaper bag in her arms, and the rear of the line was brought up by Bailey and Ryan as they carried in the presents and talked quietly together. At first glance, they appeared like a slice of perfection, but, at closer inspection, the lines of separation dividing the two adults were screaming of stress and ambiguity.

"Before you are allowed into the party," Caitlyn announced, the smile illuminating her face making its presence known in the sheer contentment of her voice, "you have to share with me one of your favorite things about….well, me."

"I like your car," the almost three year old little girl announced confidently as she marched into the backyard.

Her aunt laughed before commenting. "Are we already partial to luxury sedans?" The precocious tot wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Do you like how big and fancy it is," the auburn haired woman asked in a way her niece could understand.

"Nope. You have TVs in your car, you always pway cool music, and Rowy finds candy in the seats."

"Oh, baby," Marissa cautioned her. "Don't eat that candy. It's yucky."

Nodding her head in disagreement, the toddler remarked, "Rowy likes how it tastes."

"We'll debate the merit of lint covered mints later," Caitlyn interrupted the discussion. "You, sister of mine, get to offer me two compliments, because you're holding my three month old nephew who is still mute, and he can't admire me himself."

"You have an exceptionally high level of self-esteem," the older sibling praised, "and no one is more adept at putting her foot in her mouth than you are."

Taking a bow, the birthday girl joked, "why, thank you," before standing up and helping her sister by taking the diaper bag from her.

"Hey, Aunt Caity," Bailey greeted, continuing before the guest of honor could demand flattery from the ten year old. "You can always make my Mom laugh."

"Aw, kid, that was almost as good as Jackson's accolade for me."

Curious, Marissa's oldest child wondered, "what was his?"

Smirking, she winked. "He told me I was good in bed."

"Keep it up, Caitlyn," Ryan warned her, stepping into the backyard, "and you'll be the one giving my son the sex talk."

"No sweat, dude," she dismissed his threat. "The little man and I already agreed to discuss the funky monkey after he turns twelve." Both of his parents went to protest, but the younger of the two Cooper sisters held up a patient finger to stop them. "Now, give me my compliment and then I have a question for you."

"No one is more capable of pissing me than you are."

"Oh, Mr. Itwood," Rowan giggled, admonishing him. "That's another dollar."

Caitlyn turned to look at the two and half year old with a question on her tongue, but Ryan's inquiry brought her attention back to him. "What did you want to ask me?"

Squaring off, the greed eyed woman placed her hands on her hips and glowered at her nephew's father. "Why are you here….at my birthday party?"

"I was invited."

"Not by me," Caitlyn protested.

"I invited him," Marissa elucidated. "You told me that this was a family party, and Ryan is a part of this family."

Pouting, the younger of the two mothers wondered out loud, "since when?"

Before anyone could correct, yell, or chastise her, the journalist spoke up. "Listen, how about I make this an easy decision for you? I can leave and take my present with me," he offered, "alienating you from your sister, your nephew, and, in all likelihood, your niece, too, or," he continued, "you can let me stay, you can keep the present, and I'll stand on the side of the fire where the smoke's blowing, far away from your throne, Princess."

Crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes, Caitlyn asked, "you really got me a present?"

"See for yourself."

Taking the gift from his offered hands, the birthday girl started opening it quickly. "We tried taking turns opening present this past Christmas," Jackson, her husband, joined the group and commented to Ryan as he handed him a beer, "but, before we even made it around the circle once, my darling wife had already ripped open every single one of her presents and had run off to try on her new earrings in the bathroom mirror."

"One more comment like that," his wife warned him, "and you'll be bedding down with Wilbur, the 200 pound pig with dysentery, tonight at the office." Present open, she tossed the tissue paper aside and peered into the large box. "You've got to the freaking kidding me, Atwood."

"Does Rowy get a dollar for the word freaking," the little girl asked but was ignored.

"A fanny pack, a bottle of Beano, Depends, denture glue, a handicapped parking pass, reading glasses, and a subscription to AARP. Really, Ryan," Caitlyn glared at him, tossing the things onto the ground in an angry pile as she rifled through them, "you shouldn't have. Not only did you crash my birthday party and insult me, but you're going to make me break my hand in about five seconds as I punch you in your smug, little face."

"Keep looking," he instructed her. Grumbling under her breath, she followed his advice and dug through the box, eventually pulling out an envelope. "It's two tickets," he explained, "for the ballet. I thought, after the past few months we've all been through, that you might like to spend some quality, bonding time with your sister."

"That's actually a pretty decent present," the younger of the two siblings begrudgingly admitted.

"So, does that mean that I get to stay?"

"Come on, Aunt Caitlyn," Bailey cajoled. "Just think about all those sports references you've been working on. If you make him leave, they'll go to waste."

"I did suffer through a half an hour of ESPNNews last night just in case my Marissa decided to pull a stunt like this, so I guess I shouldn't squander my suffering," she relented, rolling her eyes. "Fine, Atwood, you can stay, but I have a few stipulations."

"This should be rich," Jackson quipped, earning himself a scorching glare.

"You touch my cake, I get to slice off your fingers with my scalpel," the vet threatened. "Also, there will be no commenting about my looks from all those years ago when we were first, regrettably, were introduced, nor do you get to disparage against my appearance today either, do not feel up my sister in my presence, and, most importantly, you're in charge of keeping my husband occupied for the afternoon; while you boys bond, us girls are going to discuss how we are by far the more superior sex."

"Come on, Ryan," the pilot suggested, motioning the other father along further into the backyard. "I have a horseshoe ring set up. How do you feel about making a friendly little wager?"

"No, seriously," Ryan insisted as he helped Marissa out of the car, "how much trouble did I get Jackson into with your sister? Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't want to cause problems between a man and his wife, but when the wife is your sister…."

"I think you over estimate Caitlyn's wrath; her bark is worse than her bite. He'll be fine."

"Are we talking about the same woman?"

"Really," the mother of three reassured him, "she'll sulk for five minutes, but the kids will go down for bed quickly because they're all exhausted from the party today, Jackson will then pamper her to make her forget that she was annoyed with him, and, if nothing else works, he'll get her drunk."

"Yeah, but then he'll have to deal with her hang over tomorrow," Ryan pointed out, still feeling bad.

"Actually, he won't, because he leaves for a trip to Portugal in the morning. If he's forced to get her drunk, Caitlyn will have to put up with her own hangover tomorrow. Besides," the dance instructor continued, "he has no one to blame but himself. After all, it was Jackson's idea to bet on the horseshoe game the two of you played."

"And I did keep prolonging the competition to give him chances to redeem himself," the sports writer added, realizing his own lack of guilt. "Plus, he came up with the idea that the loser would have to watch all the kids for the evening."

"Exactly," Marissa agreed with him, "so quit feeling responsible for any trouble Jackson may or may not have gotten himself into with his wife." Moving closer to him, feeling brave after he had embraced her that afternoon following his sound beating of her brother-in-law at horseshoes, she languidly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled their bodies into intimate contact. "We should be celebrating your victory instead of worrying about something that's out of our hands."

"Do you have any ideas," he asked, not pulling away from her.

"Well, I was thinking," the mother of three revealed, "that maybe you could….spend the night." Blushing and fidgeting nervously, she pressed, "I know that we haven't talked about this….us, but we've been getting closer these past two weeks, the kids are at my sister's for the entire night and it could be months before we have another opportunity like this, and I even washed my sheets this week, not that I was planning this or anything, because I wasn't; this was totally a spur of the moment suggestion, but the bedding would be fresh."

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"You can't," Marissa questioned, removing her arms from his neck as her voice turned cold and distant, "or you won't?"

"I don't know," the father of her oldest child exclaimed with frustration, running his right hand through his tousled, sandy-blonde locks, "maybe both."

"Ryan, I understand that you have doubts, and you're entitled to them, but I want this to work; I want us to work. We've been given a second chance, and I will do whatever I can to prove to you that we're supposed to take it. I messed up," she admitted freely, completely opening herself up to him emotionally. "I lied to you, I kept your son from you, and I ruined your faith and trust in me, but we'll never rebuild that if we don't start somewhere. And I'm not saying that we should sleep together tonight. Do I want to make love with you," she asked rhetorically. "Yes, I do, but, more importantly, I want to feel close to you. If you spend the night, we can do whatever you want. We can sit and talk, we can look through old photo albums of Bailey when he was a baby again and I'll share with you even more stories, or you can even yell at me and get all the animosity I know you're feeling out and in the open. The ball's in your court. I served it to you, and, now, it's up to you to volley it back to me."

"I see Caitlyn's not the only one brushing up on her sports references," he teased her, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Please don't do that," Marissa asked of him. "Please don't belittle what I just said to you by making a joke. I'm serious here, Ryan. In a perfect world, you would have all the time you needed to make up your mind about me, but the world is far from perfect. We have a son together who deserves to have some balance and consistency in his life, and we're the only ones who can give that to him. I have two younger children who deserve some stability from their mother, so, you see, we have to figure us out soon before we hurt them. They're the innocents in all of this, and our flip-flopping back and forth is only going to confuse them." Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself before finishing. "I love you, I want to be with you, and I want you to be the father to my children that they deserve to have, but it's up to you whether or not you want to be that man for us. Whatever you decide, no hard feelings, and I would never try to keep Bailey from you again, but you have to make up your mind soon, Ryan, please. So, what will it be? Will you stay?"

"I still can't spend the night."

"I see."

"I'm sorry, Marissa," he apologized sincerely, the regret he was feeling evident in his voice. "I will really think about what you had to say though."

"That's all I can ask," she replied, wiping the lone tear that had escaped her eyes away. "Listen," she changed the subject, regaining her control, "my final divorce hearing is in two weeks. I thought that since Bailey is going to be on spring break, he could spend it with you, maybe go down to Florida with you if you're covering the Braves' spring training, you know, like you took me all those years ago."

"I….um…., wow, that would be great. Thank you."

"You're his father; you should do things like this with him."

She went to go inside, to say goodnight simply by walking away, but he stopped her. Reaching his hand out, he pulled her back towards him, cupping her cool cheek with his right hand while his left found its way to her hip. Gently, as her eyes clamped shut and she tried to will away another wave of fresh, pain filled tears, she felt his lips come into contact with hers. Although she made sure the kiss stayed simple and impassionate, it still hurt when he drew his body apart from hers and walked away.

Like everything they had shared since the moment he had learned the truth about Bailey's paternity, he was holding her close enough that she couldn't distance her heart sufficiently so as not to be hurt but, at the same time, keeping her at arms length so that she couldn't wound him again. Eventually, the constant mixed signals would simply become too painful, and she would be left to force the issue once and for all. Unfortunately, at that point, Marissa felt as if the confrontation was inevitable and looming very closely in the future. Something had to give, but who or what that was, she had no idea and no way to figure it out. So, for once in her life, she was going to have sit back and let whatever was going to happen occur; this was one situation she couldn't force, fix, or confront on her own, no matter how much she wanted to.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Okay, so, although I enjoy being in control and behaving like an autocratic, I don't look good with facial hair (which is a good thing considering I'm of the female sex) or berets, so I'm going to leave them both to the professional dictators and allow you, fair readers, to exist in a democratic fanfiction universe. That said, with only two chapters left of this story and four of Margie's, it's about that time again to start a new story. However, I'm unsure of what tale I want to pen first, so that's where you come in. I'm going to list five descriptive words for each of the three new stories I have planned, and you, just by those adjectives, have to vote for what fic you want next. Although titles have been selected for two out of three of them, they will not be provided. Without further ado, here are you options:_

**Possible Fic #1**: Egypt, strangers, nuptials, expectations, adventure

**Possible Fic #2**: birth, aging, crisis, surprise, familiarity

**Possible Fic #3**: road trip, doctor, infidelity, snow, secret

_Also, this post is extremely important, and it'll be a true test of my abilties as a writer. If I've done my job of laying enough ground work, preping you, and foreshadowing in past chapters, then what happens here will make sense and no one will question or doubt its legitimacy. However, if I've failed to do so, I guess I'll have some explaining to do._

There you have them, your options - Happy Voting. Oh, and, just in case you were interested, there's also a post up, too. :P LOL Enjoy, my groupies!

Charlynn

Chapter Thirteen

As Marissa dotted the 'i' in Channing for the last time, she felt a sense of peace and calm wash over that she hadn't experienced in years. By divorcing her husband, she was righting a wrong that never should have occurred in the first place. However, she wasn't walking away from her marriage without learning anything. For one, being with Andrew had taught her that you can't force love; it has to be something natural, something almost organic and undeniable, and, without it, resentment will bloom. Their union had also shown her what not to do in a relationship. If she ever married for a second time, she wouldn't sit back and be passive. Instead, she'd fight to sustain the union, she'd maintain both the friendship and the love, and, most importantly, make sure that neither she nor her partner ever gave up on their commitment. Plus, on top of her lessons learned, she also got two amazing children out of the relationship.

Nonetheless, that didn't mean she wasn't happy to be rid of her spouse. Seated across from her, she watched Andrew as he signed the divorce papers. He seemed peaceful, content even, and, though she could neither approve of nor understand his taste in women, she was pleased that their split was so amicable. The last thing she had wanted was an ugly, bitter, long drawn out divorce; it was exactly what she and her children did not need in their lives, and she was thankful that he had go graciously allowed her to dictate the stipulations of their separation. It was the one unselfish thing he had ever done in their marriage. Too bad it had to come at the very end of it.

"Alright," the family attorney stated, straightening the paperwork and arranging it to be submitted to the court. "I need to speak with my secretary for a moment, Andrew, and then we'll head on over to the courthouse. If you'll excuse me…"

Tilting her head, Marissa teased her ex. "That's a little paranoid of you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I want everything to go smoothly with the paperwork as much as you do, but do you really think it's necessary to go with the lawyer to the courthouse to file the divorce?" Shaking her head and laughing, she stood up and gathered her things to leave. As she waited for her former husband to the do the same thing, she watched him fidget and avoid her eye contact. "Wait a minute," she realized, stopping him from the opening the office door. "You're up to something."

Confidently, he replied, "it has nothing to do with the dissolution of our marriage."

"A business deal?"

He hedged. "Not exactly."

"Well then, I don't get it." They stepped out into the waiting room together where both Caitlyn and Toni were waiting for them. "What else would you be doing at a courthouse if you weren't there to file the divorce papers or finalize a business deal?"

Shrugging her shoulders, her younger sister replied nonchalantly as if the answer was as clear as day. "He's probably applying for a marriage license." She didn't even look up from her magazine.

Marissa, however, was very interested in the turn the conversation had taken. As her eyes flickered back and forth between her ex and his fiancé, questions swirling in their sapphire depths, she finally landed her gaze on Toni and kept it there. "Are you guys getting married soon?"

"I, personally, wanted to wait," the other woman announced, standing up. Immediately, the dance instructor's line of sight was drawn to the older woman's abdomen. "I mean, who wants to be a bride when they're as big as a beached whale, but Elizabeth insisted that she wanted her grandson or granddaughter to be born to parents who were married. The wedding's set for a month from today. You're both welcome to come if you'd like," she offered, signaling between the two sisters.

"Uh…thank you for the offer," Marissa said automatically. If nothing else, she would remain polite. "But I don't think it would be appropriate for the ex-wife to be there."

"Count me in," the younger sibling promised. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Andrew chuckled. "I must admit that I'm going to regret not being related to you anymore, Caitlyn."

"Aw, don't worry. I'll still rob you blind when you bring your horses into the office."

"I'm glad that we can still be friends," he responded, sounding pleased with both himself and the situation.

That made the green eyed, auburn haired woman toss aside her magazine. "You seriously are freaking delusional, aren't you, Andy? You and me," she motioned between them, "never friends. Now, I do believe that your mother is one of the finest women I've ever had the pleasure of knowing; I respect her. And as your father, let's just say that he is always welcome at my house. On poker nights, his chair will be reserved for him, and I'll even keep some of his favorite cigars on hand in case he ever does drop by, but you, you're an ass. The only reason I'm still going to be your vet is because you have very deep pockets, and I have no qualms with taking anybody's money, not even yours."

The four adults all immediately became silent as soon as Caitlyn finished talking. Marissa, smirking at her sister's outburst, looked from face to face. While her ex and his new fiancé were gaping at the younger woman, the veterinarian simply smiled a smug grin, quite obviously pleased with herself. Finally, it was Toni who shattered the stillness of the room.

"Well, you're outspoken, aren't you?"

"Among other things. Tell me," Caitlyn pondered, "how long exactly have you had a bun in the oven, because, clearly, you're at least six or seven months along. I mean, let's face it, you're really porking it out there."

"Actually," Andrew answered for his bride to be who was sputtering and reddening in indignation, "she's only four months along."

"Whoops," the young mother of two apologized without any sincerity or actually saying the words, "my bad. Are you having twins?"

"There's just one baby," Toni bit out, barely containing her rage. While the show just continued, Marissa leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the fireworks. After all, no one could cause a scene like her sibling, and, for once, she was appreciative of the redhead's blunt and forthright nature.

"If I were you then," Caitlyn advised, "I'd quit eating for three, but your weight isn't the most fascinating part of this reveal. What I find the most interesting," she remarked, turning to face her former brother-in-law, "is that you knocked up your mistress WHILE my sister was still pregnant with your son and BEFORE you had even asked her for a divorce. Nikolas and Elizabeth must be SO proud of you."

"Well at least all of my children will know both of their parents," Andrew snapped. Although he was angry with the vet, he clearly could only attack her through Marissa.

"Bailey knows exactly who his father is," the dance instructor spoke up, surprising her ex. "He's known for years, long before I ever met you. I just didn't think it was important for you to know who he was. In fact, my son is spending the week with his father down at the Braves' spring training facility. I'd offer to ask Ryan to get you some complimentary seats for the upcoming season, but, after that cheap shot at Bailey's expense, I'd rather take a baseball bat to your head. And to think that I actually believed we were going to make it through this divorce without it getting nasty."

"Your sister started it!"

"Oh, that's mature, Andrew! You know very well that I can't control what Caity says or what she does any better than I could control who you slept with while we were married. Now, if you'll excuse us," she stated imperiously, moving to link her arms with her younger sibling and lead them out the front doors of the office building, "we have lunch reservations to get to. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials and new baby. Two people never deserved each other more."

And just like that her marriage to Andrew Channing ended. Once again, she was a single mother, except, for the second time around, she would be responsible for not just one child but three. Not only was she a single mother again, but she was also free to do whatever she wanted with her life; she was free to date. Now, all she needed was for Ryan to want the same thing.

"See, this isn't so bad," Ryan remarked, lifting his feet to rest against the empty chair in front of him and leaning back in his seat. "Just you and me, stadium food, and all the baseball you could ever wish for - this is what I consider living the life."

"It's nice."

At his son's comment, the sports journalist frowned. "Aren't you having fun with me, Bailey?"

"No, it's not that," the ten year old reassured him. "It's great being here with you. I'm having a lot of fun."

"I sense a 'but' coming though."

The child shrugged. "I miss Mom," he admitted, "and Rowy, and even Quentin though he really doesn't do much yet. I miss my family."

The older of the two smirked. "I'm just glad that you didn't say you missed your Aunt Caitlyn, because then I'd be worried about you."

"Not yet, but I eventually would," the little boy remarked.

"You do know that we really don't hate each other, don't you, that fighting is just our way of communicating?"

"Yeah," Bailey swore to him, "its weird, but I get it. You two kind of act like brother and sister though the way you're always bickering."

"I can see that," the father conceded.

Both were quiet for a moment as they recollected their thoughts, their physical attention turned back towards the game while their mental awareness organized their ideas and prepared for the next portion of their conversation. The ebb and flow of their exchanges seemed so natural for a parent and a child just recently introduced, but, because their mannerisms and reflection methods were so similar, they complimented one another.

"Were you ever lonely?"

The ten year old's question startled Ryan. "What do you mean? When?"

"After you got divorced and were all by yourself, weren't you ever lonely," the little boy wondered. "I mean, Mom had me, and then she got married and had more kids, but you had no one."

"Actually, when I think about it," the father replied, "I think I was lonelier when I was still with Theresa than I was after we separated. For a while after I went back to her, I was able to focus on the mistakes I made with your Mom. I had my memories of her and the time we spent together, I had my regrets to brood over, and I had my grudge to hold against my wife, but, that was it. After we divorced, it was just me, and, by that time, I finally figured out that it was no one's fault but my own that your Mom walked out on me. Once I left Theresa, I focused all my efforts on making my life better, on becoming a man Marissa could be proud of if she ever met me again, and I let go of all my animosity and pain."

"And now," the child pressed.

"Now, I have my moments of being lonely. After I spend the day with you, your brother and sister, and your Mom and then go back to my apartment, that's hard, but I always have the next day to look forward to, the next time I'm going to see you guys."

Bailey quietly chewed on his lower lip while he contemplated what he wanted to say next. "Have you ever…I mean, would you want to…"

"Whatever it is, kid, you can ask me," Ryan assured him.

"Why don't you want us now that you found us," the words fairly burst from the ten year old's mouth. "Why don't you want to be family?"

"Just because I don't live with you and just because I'm not married to your Mom, that does not mean that we're not a family," the writer remarked passionately. "Yes, we're not your typical family, but we love each other, and there's nothing that could ever make me not want to be a part of your life. It's just…a lot has happened between your Mom and I, adult things, and it's hard to get passed."

"Don't do that," Bailey insisted. "Don't try to tell me that I won't understand how you're feeling just because I'm still a kid. Mom never does that."

"Okay, okay," the father agreed, holding up his hands to pacify his son. "I won't, but you have to cut me some slack here. I'm new at this whole parenthood thing." Taking a deep breath, he looked around the ballpark to make sure their conversation was not disturbing any other patrons. "Your Mom and I share a complicated past."

"Which you've both already told me about."

"Well, we told you about what happened between us," Ryan conceded, "but it's harder to explain the feelings that went along with those actions."

The ten year old regarded his Dad closely. "Why does the past even matter now? Shouldn't you just be focused on how you're feeling right this minute?"

Chuckling, the writer admitted, "that's easier said than done. If you want to know the truth, I'm not really sure what I'm thinking right now or what I believe. All I know is that you're my son, I'm happy that you're in my life, and that I love you."

"I didn't ask you about what you were thinking or what you believe in," Bailey corrected him. "I just wanted to know how you feel."

"It's complicated."

"Your brain makes things complicated," the child argued, "but what's in your heart is always simple. Maybe you just need to stop listening to your head and allow yourself to feel whatever it is your heart wants you to."

"You really are too smart for your own good," Ryan teased his son. Tiredly, he rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. "But what you say is easier said than done."

"No, it's not. Look," the little boy offered, "I'll help you. Do you love my Mom?"

"Wha…what," the journalist struggled to ask for he was taken aback by his son's candid inquiry.

"Come on, Dad," the ten year old urged, "it's not that difficult of a question to answer. You either do or you don't." Before the older man could absorb the fact that his son had, for the first time, referred to him as 'Dad,' the child was already moving on to drop another bombshell on him. "Before I met you, back when Mom first told Rowan and I about her pregnancy, I asked her if she was still in love with you. She told me that she was and that she would always love you. So, the question is, do you still love her?"

"Yes," Ryan admitted softly, averting his gaze away from his son's intense stare, "I still love your Mother."

"Then what's the problem? If she loves you and you love her, why can't you be together? Rowan and Quentin both like you, you seem to like them…."

"I love your brother and sister," the father admitted emphatically. "No matter what happens between Marissa and I, that won't change. You three kids are the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Okay then," the child processed the information, "in that case, there's another reason why you should be with my Mom."

"Alright, Bailey," the parent stressed, "if you want the truth, I'm going to be frank with you. It's hard for me to trust Marissa after she lied to me."

"She didn't lie."

"No," he agreed, "she didn't give me false information, but have you ever heard of something called a lie by omission?"

Wrinkling his brow, the ten year old asked, "what's that?"

"A lie by omission is when someone deceives you by purposely not telling you something."

"Like you did to Mom when you didn't tell her that your wife left you and not the other way around the night you guys….made me," the little boy pointed out.

"Well, I guess…."

"But Mom forgave you for that," Bailey stated with confidence, "and I know she trusts you, because she suggested that I come with you this week. Now, you just have to forgive her, too. After all," the child reasoned, "you both kept a secret because you were afraid."

"We did?"

"Yeah," the child explained. "You didn't tell Mom the whole story, because you were afraid she wouldn't like the truth and would leave you, and she kept me a secret from you because she was afraid you wouldn't want us or that you would take me away from her and she'd end up alone."

Slowly, the words his son had spoken started to sink in for Ryan. Despite his young age, Bailey understood his parents' situation better than could be expected. As he realized this, a faint, almost boyish smile lit up the father's face; it was an expression of pride and a sign of acceptance for the things the ten year old had said.

"I'll tell you what," he bargained, reaching out and wrapping his left arm around his only child. "I'll make a deal with you. If you can just relax and have fun for the rest of week, actually act like a kid, then I'll really think about what you told me today, and, when we get back home, I'll have a decision for you, your Mom, and your brother and sister. Does that sound fair to you?"

"It could be better, but I'll take what I can get."

Ruffling his son's hair affectionately, Ryan could only nod in amusement. If nothing else, he and Marissa would have their hands full with the soon-to-be teenager. He was stubborn, persistent, and tenacious, qualities he had inherited from his mother, and, even if they decided not to pursue a relationship with each other, he would continue to push them together, never taking no for an answer. It was just one more factor, though minor, to take into consideration while making his decision. There was no pressure at all.

Marissa had just finished putting both of her younger two children to bed, and, while waiting for Bailey and his father to return from their trip late that Sunday night, she couldn't sit still. So, instead of washing the dinner dishes, as she should have been, she paced the length of her studio, stopping briefly at every pass of the room to peer out the large, picture window to see if she could make out her ex's car coming down the road or not. She could have used the quiet time to think, to go over her plans for the upcoming week, to organize her ideas for new classes or various other things that dealt with work, but the only thing she could focus on was the fact that, after seven long, lonely days, she would see her oldest son and his father once again.

Ryan had not been present in her life for nearly eleven years, but, since his whirlwind return to her existence, she missed him when he wasn't there. The days the five of them spent together were always her favorite; it was during those moments when she felt she was finally the mother her children deserved and the woman she truly wanted to be. When the phone rang, she ran to it, always hoping that it was her former lover calling to set up a time to see Bailey or maybe even simply wanting to talk to her. She reacted the same way to the doorbell ringing. In her heart, the guest was always Ryan even if her brain knew it was impossible because he was at work or busy with other plans. Even knowing that he was nearby in case she or the children needed him made her feel less isolated and lost. In just a few shorts months, he had turned her life upside down, and, while, at times, it hadn't been easy, his presence even as her friend was better than spending another decade without him with her in any capacity.

She was just about to pull a chair up to the window so she could just watch for their return without having to pace – the long day of running after an energetic toddler and taking care of an infant catching up with her – when they were there, Ryan's car safely parked in her driveway and the two Atwood boys approaching her front door, smiles on both of their faces. Immediately making her way towards the entrance, she threw the door open before they could even knock or announce their arrival, a large, affectionate, overjoyed smile illuminating her clean, fresh face.

"You're home," she announced unnecessarily, pulling her oldest son into her arms and hugging him tightly. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she confessed, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too, Mom," he assured her. Before Marissa could ask about their trip, he continued. "Although we had fun together, I'm glad I'm home. I'm tired though, so I'm going to go up to bed, especially since I have school tomorrow. You don't have to worry about tucking me in; I can do it. Talk to Dad. I'll see you in the morning, Mom. Love you."

And, just like that, her son disappeared up the stairs in a tumultuous swirl of words, some spoken so quickly they were perplexing in their unintelligible enunciation.

Laughing, the mother of three turned to the sports writer. "What was that?"

His countenance remained impassive, but his eyes belied his amusement and mendacious ways. "I have no idea."

"So, he said you had a nice trip," she prompted, suddenly nervous. Fidgeting and twisting her hands together, Marissa looked everywhere but at Ryan. "There were a couple of times this week where I missed him so much I would turn on the local sports networks and see if I could spot the two of you in the stands."

"And did you?"

She shrugged irresolutely. "I'm not sure. They didn't zoom in enough, so I couldn't really make out any of the faces clearly."

"Well, it was good," the father revealed. "We did go to quite a few games, but we also spent some time at the beach."

"Just like we did."

"And we got to just be," he explained. "If we wanted to talk, we did, but, if neither of us had anything to say, it was easy for us to sit in silence with each other."

"I'm glad you were able to bond," the dance instructor admitted. "You both deserve to have a close relationship with one another. That's why I wanted you to take Bailey with you."

"He called me Dad for the first time," Ryan revealed, grinning widely. "It was completely out of the blue and surprised the hell out of me. He doesn't call me that all the time, but, whenever he does, it's….amazing."

Appreciating what he was trying to express, she divulged, "it still sometimes gives me goosebumps whenever he or Rowan call me Mom, and, when Quentin recognizes me and smiles or stills when he's upset, well, that feeling never gets old."

"I can imagine."

"Maybe someday you'll be able to experience it," she suggested. "I'm not trying to pressure you," the mother of three stopped him before he could protest, "and I'm not even saying that you'll experience it with me. No matter if we end up together or not, I want to see you happy, Ryan, even if that's with another woman, and I think you should get to go through every single moment of fatherhood that you missed with Bailey. Unless," she realized, blushing, "you don't want…."

"I want," the sports writer put her at ease. Further silencing her with astonishment, he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her lightly. "I do want to experience every aspect of fatherhood," he further clarified, "and I will someday….with you."

"Huh?"

Ryan chuckled before continuing, amused by her bewilderment. "Can I spend the night?"

"Uh…sure," she agreed. "If you're too tired to drive home, I wouldn't want you out on the roads. You're always welcome to stay here."

"That's not what I meant," the blonde haired man corrected. "I want to spend the night…with you, and, not just tonight, I want to sleep here every night."

"I….what….uh….how….I don't….."

"I told you," Ryan interrupted her inarticulate mumblings. "Bailey and I talked."

Perplexed, she furrowed her brow and reworded his statement into a question. "You…talked?"

"Men are capable of communicating through words, too, you know," he teased her.

"I never said that you couldn't," she defended herself, further entertaining him.

"Come on," he urged, wrapping his right arm around her shoulder and leading her towards the stairs. "I know we have a lot to discuss, and we will, but, for now, let's just go to bed. We're both tired, and we have the rest of our lives to talk. After all, Mom," he taunted, "haven't you ever heard of the expression that the parents should sleep when the kids do? Well, the kids are in bed, and, the last time I checked, we were the parents, so what I don't understand is why we're still awake."

Threatening him, she promised, "this isn't over, Ryan."

"I know," he agreed. "It's just beginning."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: If you still have voted, the polls are still open. I'll be tallying them until after the final chapter is posted (chapter fifteen), so let me know what you want. Thanks and enjoy!_

Charlynn

Chapter Fourteen

"I feel it is my responsibility to give you a little insight into Marissa," Jackson stated as he walked into the room where Ryan was getting ready. "I realize that you've known her for a lot longer than I have, but, between the two of us, I'm the one that has marriage experience with a Cooper woman. Now, granted, you could always ask Andrew for advice…."

Ryan laughed. "I don't think that's such a good idea. Besides the fact that I'd probably be the last person he'd talk to, it's probably not the wisest idea to take relationship advice from the man she just recently divorced."

"So I take I'm your man?"

Nodding in concurrence, the blonde agreed, "you're my man. My track record with women speaks for itself. I need all help I can get."

"Especially if said relationship is anything like the one I have with her sister," the pilot warned. "Don't get me wrong – I love my wife, and we have a good marriage, but, if I can save you some of the sleepless nights on the couch that I had to endure when we were first together, then I will."

The two men were standing side by side in front of a large mirror, fixing their hair and attempting to make themselves appear presentable. After all, neither wanted to face the wrath of Caitlyn or her finely tuned mommy habits which would lead to her using spit to arrange their hair. Jackson didn't want the embarrassment; Ryan simply didn't want to ever get that close to his mock-rival's bodily fluids.

"Tip number one," the younger man warned, "their feet retain water and swell during those few days a month when it's a very bad idea for a man to even contemplate anything negative about or contrary to his partner's way of thinking."

"No," Ryan cringed, suddenly not enjoying their conversation and not wanting to finish his thought, "no cramps?"

"We're lucky there," the brunette remarked with a sigh, "but, by the time you finish your last foot rub of the week, your fingers will be numb. If I was a glutton for punishment, I'd give up my flying license and open up a massage therapy business, because, let me tell you, do I have the practice."

Absorbing the other man's advice, Ryan was silent a moment before giving up on his wild locks and turning to face his new friend. "What else do you have for me?"

"If she tells you to handle dinner, that means you order take out."

"But I know how to cook," the older of the two men argued. "In fact, I was the one who taught Marissa how to cook."

"Doesn't matter," Jackson continued, shaking his head. "I, myself, am not half bad on the barbeque, but those Cooper girls love their sweet and sour chicken, supreme pizza with extra cheese, and anything else that might come in either a cardboard or Styrofoam container and has the capabilities to clog the arteries like nothing else."

Chuckling, the blonde mused, "I don't get how they stay so fit."

"Well, Marissa's dancing helps her, but with Caitlyn," the pilot smirked, "let's just say that she has a unique approach to fitness. Sure, chasing after the kids and working with the animals help, but her true workout comes in the bedroom." Grinning widely, he bragged, "my wife is a tigress in the sack."

"Ugh," Ryan groaned, covering his ears and pretending to get sick, "dude, that was just wrong. It's bad enough if I let myself think about the fact that JJ and Carter came from inside of her, but, before that little over share there, I always just told myself they were created through immaculate conception. You just shot that theory to hell in a hand basket."

"Then you might want to brace yourself for my next piece of advice," the brunette warned. "Those two women are very fertile. I swear, Caitlyn was pregnant with both boys before she had even agreed to try for a baby."

"Caitlyn needed convinced? Isn't the man usually the one who's afraid of giving up his carefree lifestyle?"

"She was pretty worried about her abilities as a mother," Jackson revealed. "Sure, she remembers her parents, but, by the time she was old enough to form memories with them, things were already starting to fall apart for their family. Marissa did her best, but a sister cannot replace both a mother and a father. If it wasn't for Bailey, I'm not sure Caitlyn and I would be parents at this point in our lives."

Curious, the journalist asked, "what do you mean?"

"The thing that finally convinced Caity that she could be a Mom was watching Marissa with your son. She was amazing with him. She was both his friend and his mentor, his confidant and his parent, and, after I went to her and told her about her sister's doubts, she would come up with reasons for the two of us to watch Bailey, eventually even letting him spend the night a few times. After that first sleepover, nine months later JJ was born." Stopping for a moment, the younger man regarded his companion. "But I guess you won't have to worry about Marissa getting pregnant as long as she stays on the pill. I mean, you already have three kids, so you guys are done, right?"

"Actually, no," Ryan confessed. "We want at least one more."

"Four kids," the pilot whistled, "that would be quite the handful, especially with Rowan thrown in the mix there to instigate trouble."

"She's just high spirited," a third voice joined their group, "smart, and she knows how to turn a profit. I'd say she has the makings to become a fortune 500 business woman, allowing her parents to retire early."

Wanting to know what the recently turned three year old was doing, the blonde inquired, "what's she up to now?"

"She's just trying to trick the various adults gathered out front into swearing, so she can collect money from them."

"Aren't you supposed to be with your sister right now," Jackson wondered out loud, changing the subject. "Ryan and I are talking shop, comparing notes on the two of you."

"Atwood, I might love my husband, but never take advice about a woman from another man. If you want some pointers to make your relationship with Marissa last, I'll help you."

"Yeah, right into divorce court," the sports writer mumbled under his breath. Unfortunately for him, the redhead heard.

"That's it," she snapped, pointing a long finger towards her husband. "You, get out."

"But…," Jackson stuttered, attempting to protest. "I was going to ask him a question."

"Hurry it up."

Looking at the older man, the brunette queried, "why would the two of you want to have another kid? Quentin's almost to the age where he'll be walking and not requiring as much constant attention, Marissa's body is back to pre-baby shape, and you're going to be newlyweds. Live it up, man; don't saddle yourself done with an infant."

"Are you really that dense or did your mother simply feed you arsenic as a child," Caitlyn quipped, glaring at her significant other. "They want to suffer through the whole nine months of hormonal hell, the weeks of post-birth abstinence, and the endless nights of 3 am feedings," she explained. "Yes, they have three kids already, but they've never gotten to do the whole baby experience together before."

"When you put it like that," the younger man blanched, "I'm suddenly very happy you had your tubes tied."

"That makes two of us. Now," the vet ordered, "go and make sure your sons aren't eating any of the flowers." As her husband's brow furrowed in question, she waved him away. "Just do it, and don't ask me why." Once he was gone, she turned back around to regard her frienemy. "I swear, he's worse than a two year old high on Fun Dip, and I guess that's as good of a spot to start with my advice as anywhere else."

"What do you mean?"

"No matter what, Marissa's always right. Even if she's wrong, Ryan, she's right. Trust me, letting the woman win the argument will always serve you better in the long run. Regrettably, as you just noticed, my partner hasn't quite figured that one out yet."

"Won't she realize that I'm simply agreeing with her so she won't be mad at me?"

"Doesn't matter," Caitlyn dismissed, motioning him to stand in front of her so she could straighten the collar of his oxford shirt. "She'll simply appreciate the gesture."

He shrugged to show is acceptance of her statement. "What else do you have for me?"

"Bribery is always the best way to get yourself out of trouble. If she's just a little mad at you, buy her chocolate. You and I both know how much my sister likes her sweets, but don't expect her to share." Taking a breath, she continued. "If you've been kicked out of the bedroom and relegated to the doghouse, go with flowers, and make sure it's nothing cheesy like a prearranged bouquet. Pick special flowers with her in mind and have the florist put them in an expensive vase that she can keep and use again even after the flowers have died."

"What if she's threatening injury to my person and is cursing the day she met me," Ryan wanted to know.

"Jewelry," the green eyed woman replied almost instantly, "definitely jewelry. Go with something expensive but tasteful, elegant yet capable of being worn for everyday. Actually," she amended her recommendation, "on second thought, if you reach this point, call me, and I'll go with you when you pick out the piece." Looking off into the distance and rubbing her chin in thought, the redhead mused for a moment before pressing on. "Also, no matter what, she always looks good in anything she might buy or wear, the food she cooks, even if it's too unrecognizable to be pig slop, is always delicious to you, and never let her catch you checking out another woman. We're not stupid," Caitlyn admitted. "Women know that their partners notice other women, but, as long as we don't see you noticing anyone else, there's no reason for us to become jealous, insecure, or territorial."

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, the journalist wondered, "why are you doing this for me? I figured you'd be outside this room, starting a pool with the other guests and picking dates for when the marriage would end, not giving me guidance to make sure it's a success."

Sighing, the younger woman took a seat on the couch and motioned for him to sit across from her in a chair. "You and I, we've had our issues in the past, Ryan, and admitting this goes strictly against my pride and better judgment, but even I have to acknowledge when I was wrong. Yes, it was Marissa who made the final decision to keep Bailey a secret from you, but I was working her to kick you out of her life way before she found out she was pregnant, and, once she did, I did everything in my power to keep her and her son away from you. If it wasn't for me, you two might be one of those disgustingly perfect couples with their very own blonde haired, blue eyed, angelic soccer teams. She'd drive a mini-van, clean in heels and pearls, and you'd say things like 'isn't life grand, dear?' right before the two of you went to sleep in your matching twin-sized beds."

"You've really got to lay off the Nick-at-Nite, Caity."

Ignoring him, she continued, "what I'm saying is that I was wrong to keep the two of you apart, I was wrong to convince her to keep Bailey a secret, and I was definitely wrong when I set her up with Andrew."

Teasing her, the older man asked, "what were you thinking with that one?"

"I don't know," the mother of two exhaled noisily. "All I can say is that he looked good on paper."

"And he was my exact opposite," Ryan stated knowingly.

"There was that, too," the redhead rolled her eyes. Standing up, she brushed the non-existent wrinkles from her formal, summer, tea-length dress. "Enough of this emotional mumbo-jumbo – I have the reputation of a bitch to uphold. Speaking of which," she warned, her whole demeanor changing as tension entered her shoulders, "I'm warning you, Atwood, if you hurt my sister, there won't be anywhere you'll be able to hide from me. I'll seek you out, cut off your balls, and then use them to suffocate you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And," she continued to threaten him, "not only is my husband a pilot who has clearance to fly me into countries that don't have extradition treaties with the United States, but I'm also a doctor, so I know how to make a murder look like an accident."

"You're just an animal doctor," the journalist taunted, unsure as to why he was pushing his sparring partners buttons when she was warning him of bodily harm but taking the risk anyway. "Don't inflate your degree."

"All that means is that my bedside manner isn't nearly as hospitable, so the dying process would be that much more painful."

Sobering, Ryan looked his future sister-in-law in the eye. "I promise you, Caitlyn, that I'll do everything in my power to make sure your sister is happy everyday for the rest of our lives."

"Good. I just wanted to add a little extra incentive."

"Well, you did a good job," he reassured her. "Trust me, I don't take threats of being neutered lightly."

"Alright, well, in that case," she squared her shoulders and held her hand out for him to shake. "Welcome to the family. It's about damn time you made an honest woman out of my sister."

"I couldn't agree more," the sports writer replied, taking the younger woman's hand briefly into his.

As they walked out the door together, she stopped him by holding something out for him to take. "Here."

"What's this," Ryan questioned rhetorically while reaching out for what she was offering. "Really, Caity, you shouldn't have gotten me a gift."

"It's a breath mint, genius," she joked, playfully glaring at him. "I'm not going to let your mouth taste like ass the first time you kiss my sister as her husband. Go find my Jackson and the kids," she ordered, "while I go and make sure Marissa hasn't come to her senses and pulled a Maggie Carpenter on you."

"Your consideration is heartwarming, Ross."

Their bickering ceased as the young mother turned to face her bantering adversary. Thoughtfully, she smiled at him. "You know, with you around, family get-togethers are going to be a whole hell of a lot more entertaining."

With that, the closest Ryan would ever get to her acceptance or even her approval, Caitlyn disappeared, leaving him alone to contemplate the day and what it would bring. He was finally marrying the woman he had been in love with for almost twelve years, the mother of his children, and the girl who still made his heart beat faster simply with a smile sent in his direction, and the best thing was that he didn't have a single doubt, insecurity, or fear. For once in his life, he had let himself fall, and it felt really good.

"Mom," Bailey greeted, sticking his head through the doorway. "Aunt Caity wanted me to check on you, make sure you weren't emotional or anything."

"Emotional?"

"Yeah, she said that she didn't spend twenty minutes putting her makeup on so that you could make her cry and ruin it."

Huffing under her breath, Marissa complained, "she's such a brat." Raising her voice, she welcomed her oldest child into the room. "Come on in. I'm fine."

"So, no tears, no sniffles, no blubbering," the ten year old wanted to know.

"That's it," she announced, "after your Dad and I get back from our honeymoon, you are not spending anymore time with your Aunt. Her bad habits and annoying tendencies are starting to rub off on you."

"Maybe it's just in the genes," Bailey shrugged, dismissing his mother's declaration.

Rolling her eyes, the dance instructor changed the subject. "Is everything ready to begin?"

"Uncle Jackson was talking to JJ and Carter, telling them that they have to behave during the ceremony, Aunt Caitlyn was yelling at Rowy because she threw her all her rose petals into the toilet and flushed them down, and Ryan was feeding Quentin his bottle so that he wouldn't become upset later when you're getting married."

"You know, you're allowed to call Ryan Dad all the time."

"I know," the little boy replied, carefully thinking before speaking, "and it's not that I don't think of him as my Dad. It's just weird to say it. I'm not used to having a dad yet."

"And that's my fault," Marissa admitted guiltily, hanging her head. "Can you come here for a minute," she asked, holding out her hand and helping her son sit on the couch with her. "I know I've told you this before, but I'll never be able to say it enough." Looking the ten year old in the eye, she smoothed her larger hand over his still small, chubby one. "I'm sorry that for so many years you didn't know your father. You have no idea how much I regret keeping you a secret."

"Mom, I know that you're sorry," her oldest child acknowledged, "but I'm not mad at you. Yeah, it would have been cool to have my Dad around when I was little," he admitted, "but it was good with just you and me, too. Plus, you've always told me that things happen for a reason, and I think you're right. If you would have told my Dad about me all those years ago, then we wouldn't have Rowan and Quentin."

Blinking rapidly to rid her sapphire eyes of the loose tears gathering there, the mother of three pulled her son into an embrace. "You're pretty amazing, do you know that?"

"Kid," an intruding Caitlyn chastised as she pushed her way into the room. "What did I tell you? You were supposed to make sure she was NOT all weepy when I got here. I guess what they say is true – never send a man to do a woman's job. First, I send in Jackson to make sure that Atwood doesn't bolt liked a scared rabbit, and that was about as successful as Liza Minnelli and David Gest's relationship. Then…"

"Wait a minute," Marissa interrupted her rambling sister, "what's this about Ryan? Are you saying that Jackson talked him out of getting married?"

"What," the younger woman asked, slightly confused by the question before realizing what conclusions her sibling had jumped to. "No. They were just having boy talk, discussing us, and Jackson was giving your future husband marital advice, but, don't worry, even if I have to chain that man to the alter, if you want to marry him, you will."

"I think I'm going to go and get in place," Bailey suggested, hooking his finger over his shoulder towards the door as he quickly backed away towards it. "I'll see you in a few minutes, Mom."

The mother of three simply waved goodbye to her son who was going to walk her down the aisle while his aunt tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for him to leave. Once he was gone, she quipped, "what am I, the human equivalent of brussel sprouts? I didn't even warrant a 'see ya' later' from the little brat."

"You can pay his indifference back while he stays with you for a week," Marissa suggested, "but, if there's nothing else that's bothering you, I think I'd like to get married right now."

"I still wish you would have let me pick out a more formal wedding dress," the redhead groused. "You don't even looking like a bride."

"So then my mission has been accomplished." Upon seeing her sister's pout, the older woman continued. "Listen, I've already had the formal wedding, and look how well that turned out. Ryan and I have always been untraditional, so this works for us. Plus, I'll be able to wear my dress again."

"You're so damn practical. Why did I inherit all our parents' craziness?"

Shrugging, the dance instructor teased, "I don't know. I guess you needed the irrationality for a part of your charm."

"Yeah, well, I'm not the one marrying a guy whose job entails watching sports." Smirking, Caitlyn pointed out, "you do realize that Ryan is a glorified man child."

"He's young at heart; it'll be good for me," the blonde mused. "We both know I didn't have much fun when we growing up, so I guess I'm getting my shot at being young now."

"Well, let's go then," the matron of honor urged. "It's time to get you hitched, and it's getting a little too blubbery in here again for me." As she held the door open for her sister, she pressed, "now, I already told this to Ryan, but, if he hurts you, I'm going to inflict upon him death by testicular strangulation, so you come to me if ever does anything wrong."

"You know, someday you're going to threaten murder in front of the wrong person, they're going to take you seriously, and then I'll be forced to visit you in an 8x8 cell for the rest of your life, padded walls optional."

"Yeah, right," the green eyed veterinarian dismissed. "Who here is going to report me to the authorities?"

"Hey, you never know," Marissa insisted. "I don't know Ryan's boss that well, so he could very well be best friends with the district attorney."

"A journalist and a politician - friends? I think not." As they approached the doors that would lead into the sanctuary, Caitlyn turned towards her older sister. "Okay, this is your last chance to change your mind. I have a hunky chauffer waiting outside who will take you anywhere you want to go if you want to escape and forget this ridiculous idea, or are you still determined to become Mrs. Ryan Atwood?"

"Cue the music, because I'm getting married."

"You know, if I would have known being related to a pilot had such advantages," Ryan teased as they both looked around their compartment the plane, "I would have proposed to you a long time ago. Automatic bump up to first class is pretty damn cool."

"Married life does have its rewards," she agreed, taking a sip of her champagne before snuggling deeper into the rich, comfortable, leather seat. Setting her glass down, Marissa turned to face her new husband. "All joking aside, there's something pretty important that I wanted to talk to you about – another possible advantage to being married to me…well that is if you agree."

"You can tell me anything."

"You know how much Rowan and Quentin love you, right?"

"The feeling's mutual," he assured her, taking her hand in his and squeezing it in reassurance, urging her to continue.

"That's good." Inhaling a deep breath, Marissa attempted to relax. "And, with his second wife, passel of step kids, and his new son, Andrew's pretty much occupied with the family he's made with Toni, so the two children I had with him are basically off his radar at this point."

Offering comfort, he pointed out, "at least Elizabeth and Nikolas seem to still want them in their lives."

"They do, and I think that's wonderful," she agreed, nodding her head, "but that's not enough. After everything that's happened with Bailey," he went to interrupt her, but she held up a hand to stop him, "and, no, I don't want to get into that again either. I'm just saying…I want all three of my children to have two loving parents; I want all three of my children to have you as their father."

"What do you mean?"

Casting her eyes down towards their joined hands, an obvious sign of her apprehension, she quickly said, "I was wondering if you'd want to consider adopting Rowy and Quentin, if you'd want to become their official and legal dad?"

For several moments, Ryan was speechless. "Are you…are you sure? I mean, would they even want me to be their dad?"

"Rowan has already slipped up and called you Daddy a couple of times now, almost as if it's her natural impulse to think of you like that, and you're really the only father figure that Quentin knows. Since the moment he was born, he has probably spent less than a week's worth of time with Andrew. That's not nearly enough time for a baby to form a bond with someone, but you've been there in one capacity or another almost since the day he was born. Hell, I think you spent more time waiting with me outside his neonatal unit that one day we talked than Andrew did the entire time my little boy was in the hospital. In my eyes, you're already their father; it's just up to you whether or not you want to be so on record."

"And how do you think Andrew will react?"

"He might slightly protest at first, but, once I assure him that I would never keep the kids from his parents, I think he'll agree. If nothing else, it'll save him a lot of money on child support." Laughing, she added, "not that he's hurting in anyway, but my ex loves spending money on himself, so not having to help pay for his kids will mean more toys for him."

"I don't…I don't know what to say," he admitted. Cupping her jaw, he pulled Marissa towards him to share a tender kiss. "Thank you," he whispered softly, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke. "Can we start the paperwork when we get back?"

"I'd like that," she assured him. Pulling back slightly, an impish sparkle entered her eyes. "Do you know what else I'd like?"

"Another kiss," Ryan asked optimistically, but, unluckily for him, she simply shook her head no. "What then?"

"I'd like for you to ask the stewardess for a blanket that we could share."

With disbelief in his voice, he asked, "you're cold?"

But Marissa didn't respond. Instead, she simply quirked her brow at him and waited until he did what she wanted. When the blanket was finally smoothed across both of their laps, she leaned closer to her new husband and motioned for him to tilt his head towards her. Licking her lips before she spoke, she made sure that he was hanging onto every single motion her body performed. "I felt like living dangerously," she confessed, almost giggling, "so I packed my own suitcase again." Recognition quickly turned Ryan's gaze hopeful. "For old time's sake, I'm not wearing any underwear."

And, just like that, their honeymoon officially began.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Alright, so we have finally reached the end of this story. Although Julie requested a third part to this tale, at this time, there are no plans for another fic to conclude this series. That said, I tried to include things that were requested in this chapter, so I hope that helps. Just as a reminder, you have one last chance to vote for the next story. The options are:_

**Possible Fic #1**: Egypt, strangers, nuptials, expectations, adventure

**Possible Fic #2**: birth, aging, crisis, surprise, familiarity

**Possible Fic #3**: road trip, doctor, infidelity, snow, secret

The votes are close, so, at this point, it could still be any one of the three stories. Thanks for sticking with me on this tale. I've appreciated your interest and all your amazing comments. Enjoy the final chapter! (And cast your vote if you haven't yet. ;) Thanks!)

Charlynn

Chapter Fifteen

It was over, it was official, and it felt wonderful. Not only was he the father of one amazing child, but Ryan now could claim that right to all three of his wife's children. While they had been at the court house finalizing the adoption papers for Rowan and Quentin, he and Marissa had legally changed Bailey's name, dropping Cooper as his surname and shortening his moniker to simply Bailey Ryan Atwood. The best part was that everything had gone smoothly. Andrew had offered no objections, his lawyer had not tried to included any restrictive or objectionable clauses, and the judge had even been friendly – not that the judge's personality mattered, but it did help to make the afternoon go even more smoothly.

"What are you thinking about?"

Marissa's question startled him for he had been so lost in thought. While still watching the road out of the corner of his eye, the journalist turned towards her and smiled. "Today," he replied, "and how good it feels to know that the kids are now our children. We should do something to celebrate?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, looking back at the traffic in front of him. "Maybe we could do something special this weekend as a family – take the kids somewhere."

"That sounds great…"

"And don't you dare mention it to your sister," he warned her, rolling his eyes at her pout. "You know exactly what she'll do. She'll invite herself, pawn her kids off on us so she and Jackson can go away together for the weekend, or try to change our minds so that Jackson and I will take all five kids and the two of you can go to the spa or something. When I said 'as a family,' I meant you, me, Bailey, Rowan, and Quentin. Did you hear me say anything about Caitlyn? "

"Come on, Ryan," the mother of three cajoled, "think of it this way. We'll go to the water park, and you'll be able to take pictures of her in her bathing suit on your phone and then use the photos as blackmail material in the future."

Arguing, he stated, "it wouldn't work; she'd break my phone."

"That is not funny," Marissa protested through her giggling. "Besides, I know that you like doing things with just the five of us, and I do, too, don't get me wrong, but with…"

Her voice trailed off for nothing else was needed to be said; he understood what she was implying. "We don't even know yet what we're going to do. At this point, it's just speculation. I mean, we haven't even talked to Bailey yet."

"When do you want to do that?"

"I don't know," Ryan shrugged noncommittally. "There's no time like the present. Why don't we talk to him tonight while we're making dinner?"

"With Rowan there to ask questions and offer up commentary the whole time," the dance instructor quipped. "That should be interesting."

"Hey, between the two of us," he protested, "you're the talkative one. So don't blame me for her gift of gab. That's all from your side of the family."

"Oh," Marissa feigned insult, "you think that I talk too much? Well, then, in that case, I'm just going to lay back here and take a nap while you drive home in silence." Curling into the seat, she closed her eyes and immediately attempted to get comfortable in the upright position.

"Hey," the sports writer tried to get her attention, "you know that I was just teasing you, right?"

"I know," she yawned, never opening her eyes or twisting her head around to look at him while they talked. "It was just a convenient excuse for me to go to sleep."

"Preparing yourself for the big talk tonight?"

"You could say that," his wife agreed, her words fading off and getting softer the longer she talked. "Wake me up when we get home?"

Smiling, amused at her antics, Ryan assured her, "you know I will."

Pressing the cruise control button on the steering wheel, he sat back and relaxed in his seat, enjoying the pleasant, early fall day and simply absorbing the fact that his life really was ideal. He had a wife and three children that he loved more than anything else in the world, an extended family he couldn't quite say the same thing about but still appreciated their presence in his life, and an amazing opportunity at his fingertips. The only problem was taking advantage of that opportunity would completely turn his and his family's life upside down, and the immense decision was resting upon his ten year old son's very capable yet undersized shoulders. It was going to be an interesting night in the Atwood household.

"Don't you like the job you have now?"

It was five o'clock, Elizabeth and Nikolas were late bringing home Rowan and Quentin after spending the day with their youngest two children, Marissa was sitting at the kitchen table balancing their check book and paying bills, and he was cooking dinner while talking to Bailey who, in his distraction, had pushed aside the homework he was supposed to be working on.

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Ryan reassured his son. "My job with the newspaper has been great. I've made friends with some of the other guys who work with me, and it definitely has several pretty amazing perks."

"Then I don't get it," the ten year old complained. "You just moved here, you and Mom just got married a few months ago, and you just adopted Rowy and Quentin today. Why would you want to move?"

"It's not that I want to move…exactly. This job that I've been offered though is amazing. You know how much I love the Cubbies."

His son nodded. "Aunt Caitlyn said it's because you enjoy self torture and pain."

Lowering his voice, Ryan made sure that his wife wasn't listening to their conversation. "If that were the case, then I'd be inviting your aunt over for dinner every night, and you don't see that happening, do you?" The little boy laughed. "I think it's all about rooting for the underdog. I identify with them, because, at one point, I, myself, was the underdog."

"That makes sense," Bailey allowed. "So, tell me more about this job."

"I'd be working in the public relations department for the Cubs, acting as a liaison between the franchise and the media, and who is better qualified for such a position than someone who once was the media himself."

Warming up to the idea, his oldest son asked, "would you get to work at Wrigley Field?"

Apparently, that was enough to attract Marissa's attention. "What's this about Wrigley Field?"

"If Dad takes the job in Chicago," the ten year old explained, "I was curious if he would get to work at the stadium?"

"You're moving?"

Turning towards the startled, slightly emotional voice that had interrupted their conversation, all three Atwoods found Elizabeth Channing holding a fussy Quentin in her arms while searching for an answer on his and his wife's face.

Ignoring her, Marissa held her arms out for their youngest child. "What's wrong; why is he upset?" Changing tactics, she accused, "you're late. Did something happen?"

Before the children's grandmother could answer, Rowan ran up the stairs, flew across the kitchen, and threw herself into Ryan's arms. "Daddy, Daddy," she cried out pitifully, "Rowy got hurted."

"What happened baby girl?"

"She snuck into her Grandmother's closet and was trying to wear her heels," Nikolas answered him. He was the last to join their confused group. "And, when she was trying to walk down the stairs in them, she tripped, fell, and skinned her knee and elbow on the hardwood floors, but she seems fine now. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, she was out the car and running towards the house demanding to see her Daddy."

While his words were said calmly, both he and Marissa could sense an underlying tension to his tone. Evidently not all the Channings were supportive of him adopting their grandchildren.

"Rowy missed you, Daddy," the three year old pronounced, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Pulling away, she placed a kiss on his cheek. "Her had a bad day. Baby cried the whole time, Gamma yelled at Rowy for breaking her big-girl shoes, and Papa wouldn't let Rowy save her crusts from lunch to feed to the punkins."

"I'm sorry," Marissa apologized to her former in-laws. "It's my fault that she tried to wear your shoes. I always let her play in my closet. She likes dressing up in my clothes and playing pretend. If you'd like, we," she motioned between the two of them, "would happily pay to replace your heels."

"That's not necessary," Elizabeth reassured her. "I really wasn't that upset. My nerves were just slightly frayed, and I took my frustration out of Rowan. It was a…long day."

"You still haven't told us what's wrong with Quentin yet," Ryan urged his wife's ex-husband's parents to explain. "Did he get hurt somehow, too?"

"No, we think he's teething," Nikolas replied. "We tried some Baby Oragel, but, not used to having little ones in the house, we didn't have any teething rings lying around."

"Rowy get one for baby," their daughter announced, pointing towards the fridge. When he simply stood there still holding her, she playfully pulled on his neck. "Move, Daddy. You have to carry Rowy to the freezer."

"You know," Elizabeth offered some advice, "you shouldn't really indulge her every whim. She's going to become spoiled. And, as for this habit of hers to speak in the third person, you should try to break her of it before she goes to preschool next year."

"Rowy's not spoiwled, Gamma," the toddler argued. "Her is Daddy's baby girl, and he loves her."

"See what I mean."

"Mrs. Channing, no offense, but I think Marissa and I will decide what our daughter is and isn't allowed to do. I realize that you've already raised your son and that I'm new at this whole fatherhood thing, but my wife has practically raised these three children on her own for years now, and I, for one, think she's done a wonderful job."

"You're right," Nikolas pacified him. "Liz was out of line, but we're getting sidetracked. When I walked in, she was asking the two of you," he looked at his former daughter-in-law but implied both of them, "something about moving?"

"Yay," Rowan cheered. "Mama, can we move to Paris?"

"Why do you want to move there, sweetie," the mother his children asked her three year old.

"Because Aunt Caity said I could be a Can-Can dancer if we lived in Paris."

"Oh, this is just wonderful," Elizabeth complained under her breath while glaring at him. "Would someone please just give me a straight answer? You've already legally taken our rights to our grandchildren away from us. Are you physically going to tear them out of our lives, too?"

"You walked in on a personal and private family discussion," Ryan answered. "Until we make a decision on our own, I don't feel as if you need to be included in our conversation."

"But, no matter what," Marissa assured the grandparents of her two youngest children, "I will not keep you from Rowan and Quentin. No matter where we live, the both of you will always be a part of their family. I promised you when we started the adoption process that Ryan becoming Rowan and Quentin's legal father and guardian would not change your relationship with them, and that sill holds and always will no matter if we live in Atlanta, Boise, Caracas, or Timbuktu."

"Timbuktu, Timbuktu," their three year old daughter called out from his arms. "Daddy, Rowy wants to go there! Where is Timbuktu?"

Because of the slightly tense atmosphere of the kitchen, the adults all ignored her and her question, and Bailey, too engrossed with the situation around him, appeared to have not even heard his sister's comments.

"I think we should be going," Nikolas finally stated, gently ushering his wife from the room and towards the stairs that would take them back to the first floor, outside, and, eventually, their car. "Please, whenever you reach a conclusion about this possible, potential move, let us know what you decide."

"We will," Ryan heard his wife reassure The Channings. "Thank you for watching the kids this afternoon. We appreciate it."

"We weren't babysitting them; we were simply spending time with out grandchildren," Elizabeth corrected her before stepping out of the room and disappearing. The five Atwoods remained quiet as they listened to the elderly couple leave, waiting until the sound of the front door closing drifted up to their ears before speaking.

"Here, Mama," Rowan beamed up at her mother, reaching out her little, chubby arm and handing Marissa the frozen teething ring for her fussy brother.

"Thank you." After placing the cold, frozen circle in their son's hands and watching him as he lifted the ring to his mouth to chew, she looked up and met Ryan's gaze. "Now, back to where we were before we were interrupted, "the Cubs play at Wrigley Field…the Wrigley Field you mentioned to me all those years ago?"

Smirking he replied, "there is only one."

"So you could…perhaps…get special privileges, maybe even be allowed to give me a private tour of the stadium?"

"Oh yeah," the journalist agreed, "I'm sure that could be arranged."

"I must say, Chicago is looking better and better for me," Marissa declared, "but the final decision isn't mine to make. Like your Dad said, Bailey, it's up to you."

"Your brother and sister," Ryan explained, "haven't started school yet. They wouldn't be leaving behind their friends, their sports teams, all their memories, but you would, so we wanted to allow you the choice of whether or not you want to try this. If you don't, that's fine. We're happy here. But, if you're feeling adventurous, this move could make us all even happier than we already are and closer as a family."

"Rowy says yes," their daughter announced eagerly. "Her likes playing in boxes while Mama unpacks."

"What about Mom's studio," Bailey wanted to know.

"Well, I'd sell this one," she responded, "but, once we're settled in our new home, I'll find a new building to buy and turn into my dance studio."

"And they get snow in Chicago, right?"

"More snow than you could ever wish for," the sports writer responded to his oldest child's question.

Debating, the ten year old wondered, "what about Aunt Caitlyn, Uncle Jackson, JJ, and Carter?"

"Because of your uncle's job, they all fly for free," Marissa answered, "and we get great discounts, too, so we'll travel to see each other all the time. Trust me, they're your family, and they're going nowhere anytime soon."

Silence descended over the kitchen as all eyes rested upon Bailey. He chewed his lip, fidgeted in his chair, and rubbed the back of his neck while he thought. Finally, looking up to meet his parents' gaze, he bargained, "if I say yes, I want to move, will you promise that you won't be mad and that I won't get in trouble?"

"Trouble for what," the dance instructor queried. "What did you do?"

"You have to promise," the little boy insisted.

Sharing a discreet glance, they concurred to give in to his demands, and Ryan spoke up. "Alright, we agree."

"We should start packing then," their oldest child suggested, standing up and moving towards his room. "After all, the sooner we're ready to go, the sooner we can move."

"Not so fast," the note of warning in Marissa's voice stopping him in his tracks. "You still have to tell us what you did."

Without looking at his parents, the ten year old replied, "I got a detention at school today," before simply walking out the room and leaving behind him a smirking sister, two frowning parents, and a content and slobbering little brother. So much for their perfect day; the night just kept getting better and better.

"I can't believe that our son got a detention for snapping a girl's bra," Marissa exclaimed as she walked into their bedroom that evening. As he listened to her talk, an amused smirk on his face, Ryan simply went about their typical pre-bed routine, setting the alarm, putting his cell phone on its charger, and turning down the bedding. "I'm not ready for this," she pronounced. "I thought we'd have a few more years before girls became an issue."

"So he's taking after his father and starting young," he teased her. "It could be worse."

"No, you don't understand. These girls aren't like the ones we grew up with during our generation." Stripping off her blouse, she started changing and putting her pajamas on while she talked, oblivious to her husband's appreciative attention. "Instead of dreaming of college, marriage, and eventually daughters of their own, they're counting down the days until they can get implants and nose jobs. They don't want a happy family someday; instead, they fantasize about having sugar daddies and sexy lawn and pool boys on the side. Those girls don't want to grow up and become teachers or doctors or lawyers, they want to become famous for being a slut, for filming illicit sex videos and releasing them onto the internet, for sleeping their days away and partying all night."

"I think you're exaggerating a little bit."

Protesting, she argued, "I'm not. Just last week when I picked Bailey up for his dentist appointment, I was walking behind two of his fellow fifth graders. They were both wearing more makeup than Tammy Faye Baker and smelled like the perfume counter at a department store. One girl was wearing these skin tight jeans and a midriff bearing shirt, but the worst part was that her thong was sticking out the top of her pants, and the other one had on a skirt so short, I'm not sure it would have been thick enough for me to wear as a headband." Taking a deep breath and refocusing, she continued. "I guess they were arguing about something, and, all of a sudden, I heard one of the little girls say 'Bitch, please' before tossing her highlighted hair over her shoulder and stalking off."

Playfully taunting her, Ryan chided, "you were eavesdropping on their conversation?"

"You're missing the point."

"Which is?"

"We have to do something about this before it gets out of hand. I'll make you a deal," Marissa bargained while brushing out her long locks. "I'll take care of the boys if you handle the girls."

Confused, he asked, "what do you mean?"

"I'll protect the boys and scare all the skanks away while you lock the girls up in a white tower and force feed them birth control pills as an added precaution."

"Would you relax, please," the journalist begged of her. "Yes, Bailey shouldn't have snapped the girl's bra, and I'll talk to him about it, but he's not going to go out and make you a grandmother anytime soon. What has you so jumpy tonight? You usually like thunderstorms."

"It's just…my god, Ryan, that's our little boy. I mean, I still read to him every night before he goes to bed, and, sometimes, when I'm lucky, he still calls me Mommy. I'm not ready for him to grow up yet."

"Come on," he urged her, "let's get into bed." Easing her brush from her hands, he put it down on her vanity and helped her stand up, leading the mother of three towards their bed. "We've had quite the day. I think we both need to just relax."

"Tell me about it," she complained with a tense sigh. "Between meeting with the judge, our confrontation with Elizabeth and Nikolas, deciding to move, Bailey's detention, Rowan's belated fit about her injuries when it came time to go to bed, and Quentin's absolute refusal to go to sleep tonight, I want to hiberate for a week." Settling into his waiting arms, she closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. "This is nice though."

"Nights like tonight sometimes make me question our sanity," Ryan confessed. "Is it really such a good idea to have another child? It seems as if we have our hands full with three."

Suddenly, his wife was tense again in his arms. He felt her twist around until she was facing him. "Have you changed your mind? Don't you want to have a baby?"

He noticed the tears gathering in her eyes and felt terrible. "I didn't say that exactly, but you've got to admit that now might not be the best time to consider expanding our family, especially with the move coming up. Why, what's wrong; why are you crying?"

Seeing her bite her lip and fidget with her hands, the sports writer knew that she was struggling with something. Patiently, he waited for her to respond. After several quiet moments, Marissa looked up and met his gaze. Speaking quickly, she replied, "I think I might be pregnant."

"As in…with a baby?"

"No, with a litter of kittens," she snapped, glaring at him. "Of course with a baby! What kind of question is that?"

"You surprised me."

"Well it shouldn't. Look how easy it was for me to get pregnant with Bailey all those years ago."

"We haven't really even been trying," he stated.

"Yeah, but we haven't done anything to prevent it either," the dance instructor countered. "Look, I might be wrong. After all, I haven't even taken a home pregnancy test yet, but I have been through this three other times, so I kind of know what to expect and how this feels."

Realization swept over Ryan. "So that's why you said girls when you were telling me earlier how we're going to remain grandchildren free for the foreseeable future. How far along are you if you already think you're having a girl?"

"Probably no more than a month," she admitted. "As for thinking it's a girl, that's just a feeling I have."

"Based on what?"

"With Rowan, I got extremely emotional and tended to overreact with only the slightest provocation," the mother of three…possibly four confessed, "and, well, look at how I behaved tonight. It's like my body senses there's another person inside of me that's going to suffer from PMS someday, and it starts acting doubly hormonal."

"And the fun begins now," he quipped, earning himself a dark glower and an elbow to the ribs.

"Laugh it up now, Funnyman, because I'm only going to get worse, and, eventually, the idea of sleeping with me won't even compensate for putting up with my mood swings."

"What if I told you I found pregnant women to be extremely sexy?"

"I'd tell you that you have some strange fetishes and should talk to a therapist about them," Marissa returned in all seriousness. However, he couldn't stop himself and laughed.

"Wait here," he instructed while climbing out of bed.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to make a phone call. Tonight's the perfect night for us to do something before we leave Georgia, but I have to arrange something first." She went to argue, but he stopped her. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."

"Then just believe that this is a good surprise. Take it easy," Ryan suggested, "but, whatever you do, don't change and don't fall asleep."

Intrigued, the dance instructor suggestively quirked an eyebrow at her husband. "Why does it sound like you're going to try and seduce me?"

Turning around and walking out of the doorway, he called over his shoulder, "because I am." As he walked down the hallway towards the kitchen where he would find a phone far enough away from their bedroom that she wouldn't be able to eavesdrop, he heard her laughter floating softly on the humid, electrically charged night air as it battled for supremacy over the claps of thunder assaulting the Southern countryside.

"What?"

Listening to his irritable sister-in-law's oh so not amused and sleep ridden voice, Ryan realized that he really was a man who liked to live dangerously. She had warned him about waking her up at night, but, like a man with a death wish, he had ignored her.

"I need a favor."

"Is this a life or death situation for Marissa, my two nephews, or my niece, people I actually care about," she questioned him.

"No."

Grumbling under her breath, Caitlyn announced, "then I'm going back to bed, and you should start running now, because, after I get eight full hours of sleep, I'm coming after you for waking me up."

"I need you to come over here and watch the kids for a couple of hours," he explained, ignoring her and her idle threats.

"I can't," the redhead excused, "Jackson's working, so I'm home alone with the boys."

"And you're also a liar," Ryan countered. "I spoke to Jackson yesterday, and he told me that he had domestic flights for the rest of the month to help you and the boys adjust to JJ's new school schedule. So, nice try, Caity, but you're losing your touch."

"Why can't whatever this is wait until tomorrow," she inquired. He could hear the growing curiosity in her voice and vowed to keep her in the dark.

"It has to be done at night, and who knows when another storm like this will occur."

"You're asking for my help, and that's all you're going to tell me," the younger woman complained. "You really need to work on your manners, Atwood. Talk about being stingy."

"Just….will you help me or not," the journalist demanded an answer. "This is a time sensitive favor."

"Fine, yes, I'll help you," Caitlyn announced with a cantankerous huff of frustration. "I'll send Jackson over. He'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you," Ryan said appreciatively. Without waiting for her to respond again, he slammed the phone down and went to get himself and Marissa ready. Their day, thus far, had been a see-saw, constantly moving up and down as one bad thing was followed by something equally as good. However, he was determined to end the evening on a positive note. After all, they had some celebrating to do.

"What are we doing here," Marissa asked. She sounded confused, bewildered, and slightly worried. However, he mused to himself, she looked utterly adorable. Dressed in a light short and tank top set of summer pajamas with a pair of flip flops, an umbrella to ward off the rain, and her hair tossed up in a messy ponytail, she looked positively glowing – the glow of a pregnant, expecting mother, and Ryan couldn't believe that he had not realized the difference in her before she admitted to him their news.

"We're here to make one of your fantasies come true," the journalist explained to her. "I reminded you of a very important conversation we had months ago when we sat underneath this very tree and had a picnic with the kids, and you reminded me of it tonight when you remembered the significance of Wrigley Field."

It took several moments, but, eventually realization dawned on her face. "No, Ryan," she argued, "we're in the middle of a public park."

"But it's the perfect night," he contested. Taking the umbrella from her hand, he closed it and set it aside. Standing underneath the dense, thick foliage of the magnolia, very few raindrops made it through the leaves and onto their bodies. "We're going to be moving soon, and I doubt there are very many trees of this kind in Chicago. Plus, just like you told me you wanted, it's storming, it's still warm enough to be outside together…naked, and the fact that we have something to celebrate only makes it even better."

"So…you're okay with me being pregnant?"

"I'm more than okay," he reassured her. "I'm excited."

"But before…" Her voice trailed off. Although the words were left unsaid, they both knew what she was referring to.

"I was having a momentary lapse of good judgment," Ryan excused his own behavior. "We're already talked about this, and we both agreed that we wanted at least one more child so we could experience having a baby together. We had a long night," he shrugged, unsure of how else to explain his actions. "I guess I just needed to think about all the good things having a fourth child will bring us."

"You mean you were scared earlier, and it took you a few minutes to get over your initial fright?"

"I wasn't scared," Ryan defended himself, encircling his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him. Leaning in, he captured her mouth with his in a lazy, luxurious kiss. Their embrace deepened, their hands took possession of the others body, and they both, temporarily, forgot where they were. Pulling away breathless, he dropped a teasing kiss on her nose before reiterating, "I was not scared."

The mother of his children simply smirked before moving her hands up from his hips to wrap around his neck. Changing the subject, she warned, "we can't do this here."

He moved in for another kiss, his adept fingers finding their way under her shirt to whisper across her taunt abdomen, and played with her mouth, sipping from it slowly while replying, "I think we already are."

"But what if we get caught," she continued to argue while tangling her lean digits around the long, sandy blonde hairs at the nape of his neck, allowing their lips to mate the entire time.

"We won't."

"We could," Marissa persisted.

"Even if we did," the sports writer reasoned, "it's only a minor offense."

He wrenched his mouth away from hers as if it was almost painful to leave her embrace just long enough to pull her shirt off, freeing the upper half of her body to his gaze and attentions. While his lips moved in to rememorize her taste, his pleased and excited fingers toyed with her naked breasts, manipulating the lush mounds and further stimulating her already aroused nipples.

"Are you really happy about the baby?"

"Yes," Ryan assured her, pulling back far enough to look deeply into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and almost fully eclipsing the sapphire blue of her irises, a sure sign that she needed him just as much as he needed her. "I want this child…our child…more than anything."

"Okay," she agreed, but, unfortunately, he was unsure what she was agreeing to.

"Okay, you believe that I want to have this baby, or, okay, you want to make love?"

Lifting his t-shirt from his muscular frame and tossing it aside, Marissa grinned cheekily. "How about both?"

"Sounds good to me."

Together, they fell to the damp ground, their clothes disappearing quickly as they started to make love under the large, sheltering, blossoming Magnolia tree, the scent of its flowers tingeing the air with a sweet, sultry, almost sensual essence. Their lives were about to change dramatically. They were moving, saying goodbye to the home Marissa and her children had known for years, leaving behind family that were near and dear to their hearts, and going forward to forge a new life for themselves and their family in an unfamiliar town, and, on top of everything else, they were having a baby. However, as their bodies joined together as one, a powerful jolt of lightening spread across the night sky, illuminating it and sending a blue light crashing through both of their lust filled and adoring gazes. In that moment, Ryan and Marissa knew that their life together would be eventful, it would be nonconforming, amorous, and memorable, and it would be everything they had both been waiting more than decade for. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would be real, it would be honest, and it would be theirs.


End file.
